


Polka Dots

by Owaya1



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - High School, Being a teenager is hard, Coming of Age, Dubious Consent, F/M, Knotting, Omega Verse, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:59:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7617235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owaya1/pseuds/Owaya1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emilia Watson, sixteen and bright-eyed, has her whole life planed out for herself, safely assured in the fact that everything will eventually work out in her favour if she just works hard enough.</p><p>Casper Horn, eighteen and angry, has everything to prove as he struggles to free himself from the chains of his social heritage.</p><p>Neither really wants anything to do with the other. Both are beta.</p><p>Except, maybe they aren’t. </p><p>What happens when your body develops into something you barely understand and never wanted? What happens when mind is no longer entirely over matter? </p><p>In a world were alphas are barely tolerated and omegas are seen as a social burden, two teenagers suddenly find themselves facing obstacles they never thought were theirs to face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Changes

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! *Waves enthusiastically*  
> Before reading this, please take note of the WARNINGS. There is some DubCon and some EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT here in the first chapter that may offend some.
> 
> Also, you should probably know that I am writing this fic on the premise that all of you lovely readers are familiar with the Omagaverse. If you aren’t, then go ahead and look it up, it might explain some things I have chosen to leave implicit.

Soft, silent rain drizzled over the quiet town, muffling sounds of the fist early traffic like a blanket. Muted light filtered lazily down through heavy slate grey clouds, stretching the hour of twilight well past dawn.

It was not a very unusual morning this early in the spring, though the town’s inhabitants peeked out their windows and groaned, complaining as they always did when faced with weather this dreary.

Emilia Watson awoke that morning much like had every other morning in her life — to the shrill of an alarm that she _really_ needed to replace soon, having flung it into the wall one time too many.

Reluctantly, she dragged herself from bed and forced herself to eat breakfast before packing her bags and leaving for school. Her mother saw her off, nagging her about coats and layers and — _‘here at least take an umbrella.’_ — And so Emilia left home that cold eerie morning in early spring tucked under a polka-dotted umbrella which she planned on discarding somewhere discreet before she got too close to school, because red and orange polka-dots were nasty and not good for your reputation when you where sixteen and wanted to fit in.

On a good day, the trip to Rovel Academy took her precisely 49 minutes, on a bad day it could take upwards to 90. Today, it seemed, was a bad day, and Emilia tapped her foot in quiet agitation as traffic once more forced the bus to come to a halt. On mornings like this one she regretted choosing to attend a school so far away from home, but Rovel Academy had the largest library in the region and the newest lab facilities and the best scholarship tracks and—

Well, there were lots of reasons really, but just then it was hard to remember them all as more people crowded into the tight confines of the bus and the air turned thick and stifling. Emilia pressed against the window, suddenly desperate for air, and she watched as thick drops of condense formed on the spring cold glass and ran down the inside of the windowpanes like tears.

The heat made it hard to breathe, hard to draw enough oxygen into her lunges.

Her skin prickled and the back of her shirt was abruptly soaked in sweat. Her head had turned thick and cottony, her eyes unfocused, and suddenly the press of bodies were too much for her.

She bolted, elbows digging into sides and feet trampling toes as she pushed through the wall of people just as the bus came to a halt and opened its doors.

Emilia stumbled out, deaf to the angry curses behind her and the worried exclamation of a lone middle-aged alpha.

Unseeingly, her feet took her back the way she had come. ‘ _Home’_ some panicked part of her screamed, ‘ _I need to get home.’_ And so her feet slapped against the cobbled sidewalk almost at a run, even though home was hours away on foot and her hands were trembling.

Some small rational part of her mind reminded her of her cell phone, but it was in her bag and her bag was nowhere in sight though for some reason she was still carrying that ugly umbrella — of all things — and then her legs started trembling and she fell down in a clumsy heap of quivering limbs and polka-dotted textile.

‘ _What is happening?’_ That rational part of her asked, the part that dreamed of being a scientist and figuring out how the world fit together and maybe finding the cure for cancer while she was at it, because this seemed to her something that needed doing. But there were no answers to be found right then, — her panic was deafening out rationale and the fresh cold air was doing nothing to clear the haze in her mind or cool the fever from her skin.

 _'Hide hide hide'_ that panicked part of her chanted: ‘ _hidehidehidehide.’_

Knees and palms scraping against wet rough pavement, she crawled into an alley and curled up behind a dumpster, her back pressed desperately against the cold brick wall. Fingers, stiff and wet and hurting from cold and rain, fumbled with the umbrella and she used it as a shield to hide her from the world as the trembling grew worse, and a painful clenching started somewhere in the pit of her stomach and between her legs. She bit down on her fist to stop the moan that was building in her throat from escaping.    

 ———

 

In the end, cool hands came for her.

“Hey are you okay—“ the umbrella was pushed aside, polka dots spinning away and out of her sight as she whimpered.

“Oh shit—“ Gentle hands tugged on hers — the one she was biting. Her mouth tasted like salt and iron.

“Hey, can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?“ Cool hands brushed her forehead, touched her neck. “—Shit, you’re burning up, just hang on a second I’ll call—“

She moaned at the contact, buckling forward and into the stranger as the awful throbbing between her legs intensified _burned._

Strong arms came around her, unsure, trying to steady her.

“—hey, stay with me. Everything will be fine, we just need to call an ambulance and they’ll— oh shit are you—“

He smelled like woodsmoke and soap and she groaned against his collarbone, leaning into him because suddenly his arms seemed like a much nicer place to be than a filthy ally.

“Shit is this— are you in heat? But that’s not— you’re so—“

She moaned into him, muffling her voice against his chest, squirming against him because sitting still was torture. His breath picked up, his heart slamming beneath her palms. There was something familiar about the colour and texture of his jacket, but she couldn’t hold the thought.

“Right, okay, no ambulance, bad idea. Can’t stay here though, it’s not safe, anyone could— right, never mind. I think there’s a hotel over there, we’ll get you tucked in and call your parents so they can take you home or something and—“

Emilia decided she liked the way his voice rumbled in her chest, the way the sound settled in her stomach even as it rose in panic. She tried to make out what he was saying, tried to fit the words together into sentences but nothing made any sense to her. And the throbbing was spreading now, up her back, neck, her chest. She pressed against her stranger, desperate for— for _something—_ and she moaned as her breasts met his chest, moaned at the pressure because it brought some little relief from the _burning._

 

Casper stopped talking when the girl started rubbing her chest against his. Her forehead came to rest on his shoulder, lips just shy of his throat. He could feel her every breath, hot and wet, as she panted against him, squirming, trembling.

Had he ever been this aroused before?

He blinked hard. Gasped once, twice, as he fought to clear his head. Then scooped her up, cradling her tightly to him as he set off, almost running out the ally and down the street to the hotel.

He managed to push the glass door open with his shoulder, and he almost sprinted to the reception.

“We need a room.” He managed, panting though he really shouldn’t have winded him already. He was a big guy, not overly muscled but tall and built to run.

The lady behind the desk glanced up at him and smirked. “No shit.”

Casper felt a blush creep up his neck, but he forged on.

“No she´s— She’s in heat and I—“ The receptionist’s head snapped up, eyes wide.

“An omega!” the receptionist squeaked “But she’s so—“

“A room.” Casper pressed urgently. He didn’t like having her out here in the open, there weren’t supposed to be that many alphas— statistically only one in five hundred developed though most betas carried the gene — but this was a crowded part of town with lots of offices and boutiques, and the morning traffic was at its peak and there were bound to be more than the mere statistical handful out there right now.

The receptionist produced a key, — eyes wide and more than a little affected by his panic—and he managed to get out his wallet and then he was off, hurrying to elevator. The receptionist stopped him just as the doors pinged open.

“Kid, you’re not… I mean, she’ll be safe with you right?” The receptionist looked at him, earnest worry carved onto her features. She wrung her hands uncertainly.

He blinked, touched by her worry. “I'm beta,” he reassured her, “I'm just going to make sure she’s okay and find some way to contact her family. I… I wouldn’t— I mean I’m not—“ Casper stammered.

“No no,” the receptionist horridly assured him nodding her agreement, “of course not, and you’re too young anyway, I don’t know what I was thinking.” She waved them into the elevator, her eyes on the girl trembling in his arms.

 

Maybe it had been the rain that had kept Casper from noticing outside, and then the scented candles in the lobby. Maybe…

But it didn’t really matter why, because the elevator doors had barely closed before the smell of her slammed into him. It was like running headfirst into a wall, and he staggered under her weight and his own, his head spinning.

Lord she smelled _good_ , like fresh baked bread and summer and sex, and somehow the rainwater that dampened her frizzy, blond curls and uniform only made the scent stronger.

Capser fought for lucidity, tried not to think of how soft she was in his arms, or how his dick was straining against his jeans.

He was better than this goddamn it. He _was_.

They were wrong about him.

All of them.

The doors pinged open hand he stumbled out. Getting the door to the room open proved a trial all on its own, but he managed and suddenly they were inside, the door clicking shut behind them.

“Hey pretty girl, I'm going to put you down now okay. Can you stand?” His words came out a little breathless but he thought she understood, because she groaned and her arms curled up around his neck for balance as he set her feet down on the floor.

“Emilia,” the girl panted against his throat. “My name.” Her arms tightened around him, pulling his head down, fingers curling in his hair.

Casper groaned as his mind glazed over, reason retreating and giving way to something else.

No.

He did not want this.

No no no.                                                   

He was better than this.

He _was._

Her mouth closed over his, wet and hot and urgent and one of them whimpered— he wasn’t sure whom. Her hands slipped under the hem of his t-shit, fever hot fingers tracing patterns up his spine and abdomen.

No. He was better than this.

He caught one of her hands and tugged it away from his stomach. Her mouth left his, and he breathed — relief, arousal, frustration, regret.

Her teeth closed on that meaty juncture between his neck and shoulder, her body ground against his, desperately trying to find friction.

He was—

She moaned.

He wasn’t.

Something inside him broke. Some last sliver of self that he had been clinging to like a man drowning. It was like a dam breaking, the sheer force of it wiping his mind blank, stunning him, leaving only instinct and need.

His arms came down around her then, pulling her tight, lifting her up so she could wrap her legs around his hips. His mouth found hers again, one of his hands cradling her head, fingers tangling in her curls.

It was alight. He was beta. He could bend the rules just this once.

Emilia would forgive him.

Wouldn’t she?

Would he?

Three steps and he had her pinned against the mattress, groin grinding into her heat, mouth leaving hers to trace wet kisses down her throat. She struggled with her clothes, moaning against him as her hands tugged at her shirt. He relieved her of it, some little part of him proud for not ripping it to pieces.

And then he had a nipple in his mouth, sucking and they both groaned as she bucked against him, shuddering. Her skirt lay useless around her waist, and by now her slik had soaked through her panties and his jeans alike.

Had he ever been this aroused before?

He hadn’t.

Not ever.

He pulled his shirt off, as desperate for contact as she seemed to be, and her fingers found his back, — the old scars there, the new ones too.

They didn’t matter, not now. Did anything matter anymore?

“Please,” she moaned, breathless, begging, “Please I need you to—“

He leaned off of her, kicking off his jeans and boxers, pealing of her panties and her skirt while he was at it because they offended him.

And then— then he was on her again, poised, ready, harder than he’d ever been before. He leaned down, kissing her throat as she squirmed under him, eyes glassy, lips wet.

“Emilia,” he breathed and pushed inside her — all the way in. His eyes crossed. Good lord she was tight.

She bit his collarbone, her fingers tugging his hair urging him on. He thrust into her and she dug her heels into his back, her pelvis rocking to meet his, driving him in deeper, harder.

“Yes!” she moaned “Oh god yes. Like that. Harder.”

He complied, thrusting harder, deeper, faster. He lost himself somewhere in that rhythm, in her moans and the wet sound of flesh slapping together. The pressure built, higher and higher. He could feel her right there with him, on the edge of rapture.

“My name,” he begged, “Emilia, say my name.”

Had he told her his name?

She moaned and shuddered underneath him, her skin fever hot and wet with sweat.

“Emilia,” he begged, scooping her up into his lap, never breaking pace as he thrust into her.

“Casper!” she screamed going over the edge, shattering in his arms, clamping down on him so hard he saw stars.

And the pressure, oh god the pressure. Nothing had ever felt as good as Emilia clamping down on the base of his cock like that, — and then he felt it swell, and oh god he took it back, this — _this_ was better, so, so much better. His mouth automatically sought out that spot on her spine that had swelled with him, and he rolled it between his teeth, gently, teasingly.

Somewhere in the back of his mind alarm bells were going off, but he was too far-gone to listen. Instinct old as time had a hold of him, and it told him that this would feel good, make her his.

So he bit down, breaking skin, tasting blood. And he’d been right, this _was_ good, and Emilia seemed to agree because she screamed his name and came again, this time dragging him with her, milking him in long hard squirts that went on forever.

They collapsed onto the bed, a heap of tangled limbs, still connected, and he tired not to crush her with his weight. She snuggled in under him, eyes heavy, hazy, smile contented, sated. He watched her dazedly, fighting sleep, unable and unwilling to pull out of her — to leave her warmth.

Then, as the swelling died down, reason started tickling back in. Casper stared down at the sleeping girl in his arms with dawning horror as things finally clicked together for him.

He jerked away, tumbling off the bed and slumping down against a wall. He bowed his head, eyes averted, shoulders heavy under the weight of the shame. He could feel the tears pressing, hot and stinging at the back of his eyes.

What had he done? What had been ruined today?

For him?

For her?

For the second time that day, something inside him broke.

Only this time, it was his heart.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Rumour Mill

— Two days earlier —

 

“What is Matt doing with _those_ guys?” Elyse’s voice rang shrill with scandal over the general din in the cafeteria.

Emilia’s head snapped up at the mention of Matthew Collins. She had been labouring over some math problems due next class, but she wagered Matt merited some attention.

Emilia spotted him a few tables down, standing a little awkwardly with his hands in his pockets and talking to a group of upperclassmen.

As she watched, a girl with fishnets under her standard school uniform got up and casually flicked Matt’s ear as she passed him. There was a ruckus of approval from the rest of the group. Matt flushed visibly, shuffling his feet as he spoke.

“Who the hell are they?” Emilia asked, wide-eyed and indignant on behalf of her sandy-haired crush.

Elyse found time to pry her eyes away from the scene to throw Emilia an outraged glare.

“That’s Brian’s group, you book-worm. See that bald guy there, the one with the nose-ring? That’s Brian. I heard he was suspended for a month last semester for breaking some other guy’s arm.”

As they watched, another guy suddenly stood and stalked over, his posture screaming aggression as he stepped right up into Matt’s face. The guy was _tall_ almost two heads taller than Matt, with wild dark curls and a hint of stubble on his chin that made him look _old_ next to Matt’s baby-faced sixteen-year-old-ness.

“Oh-my-god!” Elyse shrieked, “What the hell is he doing pissing off the Hornet? Does he have a death wish or something?”

Emilia tensed as she watched Matt shrink away from his assailer, paling at whatever the guy was saying.

“Why are we talking about a hornet?” Emilia asked with apprehension, and was rewarded with another glare.

“ _The_ Hornet, you nitwit!” Elyse hissed with obvious pleasure — Elyse loved berating Emilia for things she should know but didn’t, and Emilia let her because it so rarely ever happened.

“ _That_ guy there is the Hornet— it’s what people call him— and he’s _famous_ you know! Or like _infamous_ or whatever. They say that—“

“I think his name is Casper, Casper Horn” Birgit chirped in, which was odd because she hated gossip with a vengeance. But then, maybe it wasn’t so odd after all.

“Right whatever, so I heard his dad’s this big nasty alpha who’s in jail for rape or something, and Jennifer totally said she saw the Hornet talking with that kid down by the station who sells dope and—“

Matt jerked away from the Hornet; backing away from the bigger guy so fast he crashed into a chair behind him. The group erupted in a malicious clamour of laughter and name-calling, and Matt fled, scrambling away at a near run.

Elyse called his name, waving at him as he headed blindly towards them. Matt stopped in his tracks, eyes darting, obviously wishing he could pretend he hadn’t heard her, then flushed and shuffled over to their table.

“Hi guys, what are you up to?” Matt greeted, plainly trying to steer the conversation away from whatever it was that had just happened. Elyse wasn’t having it.

“What in all hells was _that_ about?” She demanded, “Why were you even talking to Brian’s group?”

Matt’s eyes slid away, roaming the floor, his hands burrowing into his pockets.

“I uh… I had to ask them about some stuff for the student council. I’m on the committee so…” Matt trailed off shrugging, and Emilia took pity on him, giving him a shy smile.

“Birgit was just helping me out with my differential equations,” Emilia volunteered and Birgit snorted, rolling her eyes.

“As if I could help you with math. She’s just borrowing my new texas calculator. Apparently it can calculate that stuff.” Birgit informed him.

“Oh that’s cool.” Matt glanced down at Emilia’s homework and paled a little. “Wait, this stuff isn’t going to be on the test today is it?” There was an edge of panic in his voice. This time, it was Elyse who snorted.

“No way, relax. Emmy is in the advanced class, she’s too smart for the rest of us lowlifes.” Emilia blushed and looked down, embarrassed for having drawn attention to herself. She worked hard to stay ahead academically, but sometimes she wished she could just fit in instead.

“Anyway,” Elyse continued, obviously bored with the subject, “what did you do to get the Hornet up your ass like that?”

“That guy’s a complete psycho,” Matt sneered, his earlier apprehension suddenly gone and an angry flush was darkening his cheeks. “I was just talking to Brian and Paul and suddenly that guy just snaps. Like, I wasn’t even talking to him or anything. I swear, he looked like he was going to punch me in the face.” Elyse was leaning in, nodding along and her eyes alight.

“You know, I bet he’s going to turn into an alpha when he hits twenty-five.” Matt continued hotly, “See how big he is? Like, isn’t he too old to be here anyway?”

“Yeah,” Elyse whispered conspiratorially, “I heard he had to retake a year — or was it two? — Like, he’s been here for _years_ and—”

“That’s not true.” Birgit interrupted reproachfully, “My brother has some classes with him and he says Casper’s pretty smart.”

“Oh.” Elyse said, disappointment plain in her voice.

“Who’s Casper?” Matt asked, scrunching up his face in confusion. Emilia thought it was adorable.

“The Hornet apparently.” Elyse informed him, rolling her eyes. “Birgit has a crush on him.”

“WHAT?” Birgit screeched and then ducked her head as people around them turned to look at her. “I do _not_.” Birgit hissed at Elyse, a flush creeping up her neck.

“Whatever,” Elyse said, looking at her nails. Emilia glanced shyly at Matt who was looking around the cafeteria a little uncertainly. He had a nice smile, Emilia thought, and his hair was a much prettier shade of blond than her own tawny mop.

“Did any of you hear the bell?” Matt asked apprehensively. “I think the bell has rung.”

Sure enough, people were filing out of the cafeteria with an air of practiced inefficiency, lingering in doorways and walking in large boisterous groups that always seemed to be going in tree directions at once and rarely in the one that mattered.

“They seriously need to fix that bell.” Matt muttered, as they packed up their things and headed for the doors. Elyse and Birgit quickly vanished in the crowd, engaged in a heated back and forth mainly consisting of phrases like ‘I do not’ and ‘you do too’.

“So um, you’re like some kind of math genius right?” Matt asked, glancing down at her. Matt wasn’t particularly tall, but Emilia was tiny — even with her frizzy curls lending her height, she only came up to his nose.

“Um, I wouldn’t call myself a genius or anything.” Emilia said self-consciously, “I'm just trying to get transferred onto one of the scholarship tracks, and they require you take at least one advanced class a year so…” she trailed of as Matt’s eyes glazed over, and she flushed because she realized she’d been rambling. “Well, I guess I’m pretty good at math.” Emilia said concluded a little uncertainly.

“Right,” Matt said and grinned, “So you think maybe you could tutor me? Or you know, help me with an assignment or something? I really suck at math.”

“Yeah sure.” Emilia said trying hard (and thus failing a little) to sound nonchalant and she was suddenly glad that she had left her hair down today because that way nobody could see how red her ears were.

“Cool, Thursday then, after school?” Matt asked with another grin, and then he was off, lost in the horde of teenagers, before she could gather her wits to reply.

She stood there for a minute, as the crowd thinned and people started hastening their steps, abandoning the lazy saunter that otherwise characterized the reluctant class-goers.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Hornet, eyes dark and movements angry, hauling the guy Elyse had named Brian out the backdoor by the neck— away from the main building and people.

Emilia froze and experienced a moment of vertigo as several emotions struggled inside her. Should she go help? Find a teacher? It would make her late for class if she did.

Was it even any of her business? Emilia shivered at the thought of those dark angry eyes on her. She wasn’t entirely sure why — maybe it was some of the things Elyse and Matt had said, or maybe it was the dark scowl he’d been wearing when he threatened Matt, — but the Hornet terrified her.

It wasn’t any of her business. Besides, if the teachers started associating her with kids like Brian and the Hornet and fishnets girl then they would never give her the recommendations she needed to even have a shot at a scholarship.

She wasn’t going to jeopardise her future for nothing. She wasn’t going to throw the last two years of hard work out the window for someone who didn’t even try. Maybe that made her selfish and cruel and a coward to boot.

Maybe deep down Emilia already knew that she wasn’t any better than Brian or the Hornet or fishnets girl. Maybe… But did it really matter?

Emilia turned and hurried away to class, annoyed at herself for not having completed her homework, for feeling guilty and ashamed, for being so craven.

——— 

Outside, in the ally between the cafeteria and the parking lot, Casper had Brian pinned to wall by the scuff of his shirt. Brian was grimacing, the back of his bald head hurting from where it had knocked against the brick wall when Casper shoved him there. He also looked rather unimpressed.

“Come on Hornet, relax. No harm done yeah? We were only—”

“What the hell are you and Paul playing at, Brian?” Casper snarled, jostling the other guy “Talking like that in front of the Collins kid, are you _insane_?

“Kid said he wanted in,” Brain scoffed, “him and some other first years. They’re flush and we aren’t, — if they’re stupid enough to give us their money then we might as well take it.”

“You were going to take him down to Ronnie’s.” Casper hissed, “You told me you weren’t doing that anymore, Brian. You fucking _swore —_ and now you’re bringing in new kids? _Academy kids?”_

“Oh fuck _off_ , Hornet” Brian snarled back at him, “You think you scare me? You think _this_ scares me?” Brian shoved at Casper, grabbing a fistful of the bigger guy’s shirt. “You think you get to tell me what to do, huh? Think you get to boss people around like you’re hot shit? I bet your daddy’s real proud of you isn’t he, you turning out to be just like him an all. Why don’t you get the fuck off your moral high horse and—“

Casper’s fist connected with Brians jaw, knocking him back into the wall again and then crumbling to the ground. Casper immediately backed up, breathing hard, trying to see through the red haze that clouded his vision.

“Shit.” Brian groaned, rubbing his jaw. His lip was bleeding.

There was a long moment of silent tension between them — fists clenching, teeth gritting — then Brian closed his eyes and groaned again.

“ _Shit”_ Brian swore, this time with feeling. “Look I’m sorry man, that wasn’t cool. I know you aren’t anything like your old man.”

Casper took a moment to breathe, to let his anger cool, so that when he nodded curtly he meant it.

“You’re right though, it’s not any of my business what you do.” Casper said, hunching his shoulders, “I said I was out, so it’s only fair I stay out.” There was another beat of silence, this one more awkward than tense. It was a small improvement.

“You know, you should come by Paul’s place once in a while.” Brian said quietly, a rough edge to his voice “I mean, we’re still your pals you know, even if you aren’t part of the gang anymore.”

“Yeah, sure.” Casper managed a little hoarsely, looking down, trying to swallow the lump that had formed his throat. “I’ll come by some time.”

Brian nodded and smiled a little, the blood dripping down his chin making him look rather grisly. Still, it was nice.

“I meant to ask how your testing went,” Brian said, his voice sober, “I know it was a big deal for you. I just… I guess I never got around to asking with everything… You know...”

“Being shit between us?” Casper volunteered with forced lightness. His testing wasn’t something Casper liked talking about — or even thinking about for that matter. But Brian was his oldest friend, even if he acted like a scumbag most of the time, and Casper found that he wanted to share.

“The doctors say I’m class B alpha. I have a fifty per cent chance of developing.” Casper managed, his eyes roaming the pavement at his feet. “They’re going to offer me hormonal inhibiting therapy when I turn twenty-one but there’s no guarantees.”

“That’s rough man.” Brian murmured sympathetically. “But you know,” he continued after a slight hesitation, “it could be worse.”

Casper’s head snapped up, scowl already in place, but Brian just shrugged.

“What? It’s true, you could have been omega.”

Casper let out a strangled laugh, and Brian grinned hugely albeit somewhat bloodily.

“That is not even funny,” Casper accused, chuckling anyway. “But you’re right, that would have been worse.”

Casper held out a hand to haul his friend to his feet, and Brian took it, clasping tightly, his other hand still rubbing away at his jaw.

“You know, you’ve got one hell of a punch, Hornet. If all else go to shit and you turn out alpha, you could always take up wrestling, I hear they get paid pretty well.”

Casper seriously thought about punching Brian again but then realised it would defeat the purpose. He scowled instead.

“You going back to class?” Casper asked, already knowing what Brian would say.

“Nah man, we’ve already missed half an hour, might as well just stay away.”

“Well, I’m heading back.” Casper said, ignoring Brian’s protests and walking away. Two years ago Casper would have been the one protesting — playing hooky. But that was before. He wasn’t that kid anymore. He was better than that now, or at least he was trying to be. People didn’t see it yet, not his mother or his teachers or even Brian. But he would show them. Eventually they would see. Eventually, they would all know they had been wrong when they said he had no future, no prospects.

Eventually, he would know it too.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone imagine Emilia screaming “THE HORNET” when Casper begged her to say his name in the first chapter and then start giggling hysterically? Because I sure didn’t. Nuh-uh not me. I am not that weird.
> 
> Also, a note on the school system: I have chosen to use the Scandinavian variant of what you American savages know as senior high school. Here you start your first year at an age of approx. 16 years old and finish as 18 or 19 depending on your birthday. I did this to stay safely within the boundaries of the dating equation, which is totally a thing.


	3. Whiplash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right! Here it is, the chapter tying the previous two together.   
> I’m hoping to update once or twice a week all things depending, but I got my hands on the new Harry Potter book today and… well, you guys get it I’m sure.

 

 

— Present time —

 

Emilia awoke with a vague feeling of wrongness, a feeling of something important missing. The source of the wrongness didn’t stem from the fact that her alarm wasn’t ringing or that her pillow was too hard — which was distinctly _odd_ now that she thought about it. It wasn’t even that she was naked or that every single one of her muscles felt heavy and stretched. No, the wrongness was more instinctual than anything, and in her drowsy half-wakened state she imagined it might have been the lack of arms around her causing her discomfort.

It was the subtle sound of someone breathing nearby which finally startled her into true wakefulness. She sat up, pulling the sheets up around her, as her eyes automatically fixed on the figure curled up against the wall at the far end of the room.

Unlike her, he was wearing pants, and he had his knees pulled up against his chest, head buried in his arms. In that instant, the Hornet looked very young.

He blinked awake even as she watched, eyes finding hers as easily as she had found him. He froze, dark eyes wide, scared, resembling for all in the world a deer caught in the headlights of a fright train.

It was in that moment that the events of the day before came crashing back in, and she saw him flinch as her hand snapped to the nape of her neck, fingers prodding the broken skin there.

“No.” she gasped, her mind reeling as she tried to reason out some plausible explanation for yesterday’s events, — something that wouldn’t ruin her life as she knew it. But there were no other explanations, only stark, terrifying reality.

Casper watched her from across the room. There was a bleakness is his eyes that mirrored her own, a sort of hollowness in the set of his mouth. But Emilia didn’t see it —couldn’t see it. There wasn’t room for two people in her personal hell right then, and much less the one partly responsible.  

They sat there for a long while, silently, unmoving, Casper watching her as she stared unseeingly at her hands. He let her brood; let her have time to grasp some of the implications.

He’d had all night to do it.

And so the silence stretched into minutes, which then stretched into the better part of an hour, until finally Casper could take it no longer.

“We have to talk about it.” He said quietly, hoarsely. Emilia flinched at the sound of his voice; at the way it splintered the silence around them. Somewhere deep down some irrational and childish part of her had hoped he would simply stay silent, that the moment would freeze, time coming to a standstill so that she would never have to face whatever it was that came next.

But time waits for no man, and Emilia was no exception.

“I don’t get it,” She finally croaked. “It makes no sense.” Her hands were shaking, and she curled into a tight ball as if to become smaller, less visible.

“I'm not… I can’t be… I can’t be an omega. It just makes no sense! The doctor said I only have a slight predisposition, —class d, and I got the hormonal vaccine as a precaution even though they said I didn’t need it and I… I'm… I’m too…“

_Young_. The word seemed to hoover in the air between them, unsaid, too frightening to dwell on. But it was there, on the tip of her tongue, like it had been on the receptionist’s and on Casper’s and would be on everyone else’s.

Omegas didn’t develop when they were sixteen — they didn’t develop at all if it could be helped. That was what modern medicine was for: to prevent hormones from triggering genes leftover from the Stone Age.

But there was no mistaking it. No way of refuting the fact that she had lost control of herself and had had sex with a stranger, a stranger who terrified her no less.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she felt the bond throb — a soft pressure at the back of her skull urging her to go to him. Across from her, at the far end off the room, Casper hissed. His knuckles were white and his entire body taught with tension as he fought that same deceptive urge.

The bond was a lie. A lie based on nothing but coincidence and folly. And suddenly, Emilia was furious, fuming, her nails digging into the wound at the top of her spine.

“How dare you?” she screeched. “How _dare_ you!” The Hornet seemed to shrink in on himself, shoulders hunching, back pressing against the wall. But he held her gaze, dark eyes as scared as she felt. Some small part of her wondered whether that cost him, wondered if it took courage to meet her eyes. The greater part of her didn’t care.

“I didn’t mean to.” He said quietly, pleadingly. “I was just trying to help, I wasn’t going to— to _do_ anything… I—”

“You’re a fucking ALPHA!” Emilia spat. “You shouldn’t have touched me! You shouldn’t have gone _near_ me! Your kind can’t fucking help _anybody!_ ” Casper flinched as if he'd been struck. His eyes were red.

“That’s not fair.” Casper whispered brokenly. “I'm beta— _was_ beta — I had _years_ before anything was supposed to… to be final. I just lost control and I—”

“YOU _BONDED_ ME!” Emilia practically screamed, she had half-risen to her feet in the heat of her anger, sheet tangling around her, shoulders trembling with outrage. But even as the words left her she felt her anger deflate, and she sank back onto the bed — exhaustion and sorrow weighing her down like anchors.

Of course it wasn’t fair. Not to her, not even to him. A part of her, the part that was now so utterly bound, the part she no longer had any control over, had already forgiven him. But this only served to make her even more enraged. Forgiveness should be her choice, hers to give — and yet the bond seemed to have taken even this away from her.

“I don’t know you.” She whispered.

“No.” Casper agreed, and there was an edge to his voice. “You don’t.”

They stared at each other, long minutes ticking away, swallowed by the hollow distance between them. In the end, it was Casper who looked away, once again breaking the silence that had descended, unfreezing the moment and forcing them onward.

He stood, picking up his jacket, — It was identical to hers save for size.

“I’ll step out for a minute, give you some time to get dressed. My phone is there on the table; you should probably call your parents or something. I bet they’re frantic by now.”

The Hornet turned and headed for the door.

“Have you… Have you called anyone yet?” Emilia asked, her voice so small and frightened he barely heard her.

But he did.

Of course he did.

Casper paused with his hand on the doorknob, back to her. He was shaking.

“Yeah.” He murmured hoarsely. “Yeah I called someone.”

Then he fled, door swing shut behind him with a final decisive click, and Emilia was left alone to stare hopelessly at a very ugly polka-dotted umbrella lying neatly next to an old battered phone.

 

———

 

They came for her, car carelessly thrown up onto the sidewalk and feet slapping the pavement as they ran to embrace her. Casper watched, glad that she had people who could comfort her.

They swept her away into the backseat of the car, fussing with her seatbelt and speaking in hushed tones, paying Casper no heed in their frenzied attempt to set things right. It was only once Emilia was tucked away into the car with the woman whom Casper assumed was her mother, and the doors were safely shut that the man turned his eyes on Casper.

Emilia’s father was a short, sturdy man with kind features and laugh lines about the eyes. He looked like someone’s sweet uncle Joe — or maybe he just looked like a good father. Casper wouldn’t know.

“We will be contacting you.” The man told Casper tonelessly, and there was no pity in him.

The Hornet hadn’t expected any.

They drove away, their car quickly disappearing into the early morning traffic, and Casper felt something in him rip free, tear itself loose and drive away with her — leaving him bleeding, hurting. He supposed he deserved it.

“Was that her?” a voice asked.

Casper turned to find his mother standing several feet away, one of his father’s great big duffel bags slung over her shoulder. Sarah Horn was a hard woman — hard faced and hard-hearted. She had sharp, violent features and tight, worried eyes.

Casper remembered how she used to make him pancakes in the afternoons and sing him asleep at night. He knew his mother loved him dearly.

Casper nodded, and it was both a greeting and an affirmation.

Sarah threw the duffel bag down unto the ground between them, her movements stiff and jerky.

“You can get the rest of your stuff when I’m at work.” She told him. “Don’t ever come back home while I’m there.”

Casper simply nodded, he had no words in him that would make a difference, and so he stayed silent, carrying her disapproval and her disgust like stones upon his back. They were his crosses to bear.

They looked at each other for a long while, perhaps both trying to remember a time when Sarah had fewer wrinkles about the eyes and Casper was half as tall. It seemed like such a long time ago.

Sarah came forward then, and he could see the struggle inside her, knew his mother whished she had it in her to let things be different. She reached out, caressing his cheek, meeting his eyes. He thought maybe there was an apology in there somewhere.

Then she stepped back, the palm of her hand slapping him hard across the face. One of her rings split the skin over his cheekbone, and he could almost immediately feel his face begin to swell.

“Don’t come home.” His mother whispered and walked away, leaving him there.

Casper gazed up into the cold frosty sky, feeling numb. He supposed he would cry later, but for now there were no tears, just a hollow, hurting ache where things were missing.

The Hornet took out his phone and dialled a number. Brian picked up on the second ring, sounding groggy; the clock’s hour hand had not yet struck six.

“Hornet?” Brian slurred, yawning.

“When you said I could come by Paul’s, did you mean it?” Casper asked a little dazedly. He wondered if he was in shock.

“Yeah sure, why? What’s up?”

“I need a place to crash for a while,” the Hornet told his oldest friend, and there was a rustling at the other end of the line as Brian sat up, coming fully awake.

“What happened?” Brian demanded with an air of comprehension — it wasn’t the first time they had had this conversation.

“Shit went to hell.” Casper managed, and it felt like he was admitting to murder, the words final, unretractable. Brian swore heartily through the phone. Not at Casper, but at Casper’s mother and the situation and at the whole world in general, and it felt nice to have someone care.

“Of course man, no worries. I’ll tell Paul you’re coming.” Brian told Casper when he finally ran out of expletives. “Where are you right now? You need a lift?”

“No.” The Hornet told his friend, though it wasn’t entirely true. “No I’ll manage. Just...” There was something more Casper wanted to say, something about temporariness and him still needing distance from the things Brian and Paul sometimes did. But those words seemed fake to him now — meaningless in any context outside that of dreams.

“Thank you Brian. I really appreciate it.” Casper said instead and meant it.

“Nah man,” Brian said, and there was a kind of passion in his voice. “It doesn’t matter what you are, Hornet. You’re one of the gang. You’re one of us.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be honest with you all; I am quite frankly beginning to understand why some people fall into the trap of writing Marry Sues. It is so very hard to make people like a character — especially when said character hasn’t had any flattering or redeeming screen time yet. I’m sorry Emilia, but it’s too late to give you long black hair with purple ‘streaks’ and name you Ebony.


	4. Repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! Look! It’s chapter four! I did not just spend all night writing it. No sirree, not me.  
> This one is a bit of a clunky chapter, but we needed a bit a world-building didn’t we? 
> 
> A hearty thanks to all you nice people leaving kudos — they make me write faster for sure.

 

 

“Hello miss Watson, I am Dr Brodbeck, the head of the specialized omega division here at Rovel medical centre. I presume these are your parents.”

Emilia sat uncomfortably on the plush chair in the Doctors office, flanked on both sides by her parents. Her mother was clutching her hand desperately and had been doing so ever since they picked Emilia up from the hotel two days before. Emilia wondered if she would ever let go.

The man who greeted them was tall and well groomed, and he had an air of experienced authority that should have been comforting but wasn’t. They shook his hand, and Dr. Brodbeck sat down behind his desk and picked up the folder he had been carrying when he entered to room.

“We have some good news and some bad news for you. I’m guessing you already know most of the bad news so I suggest we start with the good parts. Is that alright?”

Emilia nodded — she didn’t really see how anything could make the situation better. The doctor gave her a kind, sad smile.

“Well first of, I am happy to tell you that you are not pregnant.” The doctor smiled at her reassuringly before continuing, “You see, swift conception is one of the more constant aspects of omegahood, and our newest tests can determine pregnancy already twenty-four hours after a heat. We realized this must have been a great concern, so we took the liberty of hurrying the test results along, — and they came back negative.”

Emilia was vaguely aware of her parents’ relieved sighs and of the doctor answering their worried questions. There was a kind of whooshing sound in her ears, drowning out the specifics of the conversation.

 _Pregnant._ The word seemed to rattle around inside her skull. It was an implication that hadn’t even occurred to her — not for a second — and she suddenly felt like she’d dodged a bullet without even knowing it had been aimed at her. It was disconcerting, jarring, utterly terrifying.

Her skin itched, and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, fidgeting. She tried to hone back in on the conversation, knowing it was important.

“— we don’t know the particulars,” Dr Brodbeck was saying, “adolescent omegas are very rare. We haven’t had any cases of it in this region for decades. What we _can_ determine is that she is most likely not going to start a regular heat cycle for a couple of years, not until she reaches maturity sometime in her early twenties. This was what you might call a one-off.”

At some point in the conversation, they had stopped talking too her, and stated talking about her. It was not a pleasant feeling.

“So it won’t affect school?” Emilia asked, her voice quiet, and the doctor turned back to her, looking almost surprised to see her sitting there. His reassuring smile seemed fake to her.

“That’s actually the other piece of good news we have for you. Since your case is rather abnormal, there aren’t any laws restricting you from finishing High school. You are not likely to trigger any of your classmates, you see.”

There was more to it, something the doctor wasn’t saying, and Emilia was suddenly terrified of asking — of knowing whatever it was he would rather not be the one to tell her. But she wasn’t the only one who heard the omission, and so her mother spoke the words Emilia couldn’t bear to say.

“Dr Brodbeck, you say high school won’t be an issue, but what of the universities?”

The doctor grimaced.

“Mam, you have to understand, people with your daughters affliction impose a treat to others in their at-risk-years. I understand that this is hard to accept, but most universities forbid admittance of any who is tested omega positive as a way of ensuring the majority of the student body’s safety. There may still be a few universities left who have an omega education programme, but the government has been cutting the funding to these kinds of things for years now.”

Emilia felt the cracks in her world widen, felt them become great glaring chasms too deep and too wide to climb or cross.

All her life she’d dreamed of studying neurobiology, dreamed of finding her own answers to a thousand questions and studying abroad. She’d had it all planned out, how many extracurricular classes she would have to take and which teachers she needed to impress. All those long hours dedicated to homework that hadn’t even been assigned yet. All those late nights spent struggling to understand mathematical proofs. All for nothing.

All meaningless.

Emilia’s mother was clutching her hand too tightly, and the gesture had long since ceased bringing her any comfort or reassurance.

There was an odd restless ache clawing its way up her spine making it impossible to sit still. It had been there all morning and it was steadily growing worse not better.

“Another thing we need to discuss is your bonding.” Dr Brodbeck continued, obviously uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. He pulled out a piece of paper with a graph depicted. “We ran the neuro-scans, and as you can see here and here—“ he pointed at two notable fluctuations on the graph, “—It’s clear that the bonding bite hit all the vital nerve-endings. You only get readings like this when the pair involved is compatible.”

Dr Brodbeck looked up from his graph and smiled at her. It was the kind of smile parents might wear while they watch their children open Christmas presents, — fond and excited and just a little bit patronizing. Dr Brodbeck thought he was giving her good news.

Emilia wanted to punch him in the face.

“So the bond won’t wear off?” Emilia’s father asked, his kind voice hard, plainly conveying what he thought of the matter. Emilia fidgeted.

The doctor looked at him aghast.

“I should certainly hope not.” Dr Brodbeck said with no small amount of reproach. “A failed bonding can be disastrous for an omega.” The doctor shook his head and frowned. “Where is he anyway? I didn’t see the fellow outside when you came in.” Emilia’s father bristled.

“I don’t see how that lout has anything to do with this conversation.” Emilia’s father told the doctor hotly. “We are here to discuss my daughter and ways of helping her.”

The Dr Brodbeck glared at her father and then turned his gaze on Emilia, narrowing his eyes, taking in the way she was fidgeting, the way her one free hand rubbed at her sides and her arms. The doctor let out an angry hiss.

“Miss Watson, — Emilia— how long has it been since you last saw your mate?” The question came out kindly, compassionately. It did not match his eyes.

Emilia’s father answered before she could.

“Two days.” He said gruffly, sounding like it wasn’t enough.

 _‘53 hours’_ Emilia silently amended, hating herself for keeping count.

The doctor did not look pleased.

“Listen here,” the doctor said harshly, aiming his words at Emilia’s father. “I understand that you are dissatisfied with the situation, but separating your daughter from her mate is a crime punishable by law, and it _will_ cause her harm.” Emilia saw her father’s jaw clench in stubborn anger.

She felt oddly disconnected from the whole conversation, as if it were about some other girl. Part of her was still reeling, still standing at the edge of one of those great big chasms, —dumbly staring down into its depths. She imagined this was what despair looked like, deep and dark and hollow, and she could feel it being echoed back to her across the bond.

It seemed she and Casper at least had this much in common.

Emilia was vaguely aware of the two men arguing, but it was hard to focus with that bottomless pit at her feet and the ache spreading steadily up her spine and into her shoulders, stiffening them.

“— the boy is eighteen and has a track record — he’s an alpha for god’s sake. I want them separated, — and don’t look at me like that, I know it can be done.”

Dr Brodbeck was gritting his teeth, thinly concealed anger glistening in his eyes and hardening his mouth.

“That is not a procedure we recommend,” the doctor said with as much insistent authority as he could muster. “Especially not to someone as newly developed as your daughter. In fact, such an intervention would be downright dangerous for her.”

“My daughter is sixteen,” Her father argued fervently, “she’s too young be bonded — especially to some young good-for-nothing with a penchant for violence.”

“Sir, I need you to take a good look at your daughter right now.” Dr Brodbeck insisted, and thee pairs of eyes fixed on her. Emilia wondered what they were seeing. “See how she’s fidgeting, and the dilated pupils? Those are the first symptoms of what we call Separation Syndrome; the next stages are fever, dizziness, heat rashes and hallucinations. The last stage is loss of consciousness, coma — and in extreme cases — death.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Now, I understand you only want what is best for your daughter, but ignorance and good intentions won’t help her.” The doctor continued. “This is an genetic illness and it _will_ inhibit her. Getting bonded was the best thing that could have happened to her at this point because it stabilises some of the hormonal erraticism that unbonded omegas suffer from. If your daughter still feels the need for separation in a few years when she is matured and has established a regular heat cycle, _then_ — and only then— will we discuss such procedures.”

Emilia wasn’t sure how to feel about any of it. Separation? She imagined it would be painful, tearing free that part of her mind that was now melded with his, the part of her soul that was even now aching at the loss of Him. She wanted it though, Emilia realised. She wanted the chance to choose for herself; to fall in love and be with someone who smiled and didn’t frighten her senseless.

She wondered if maybe Casper wanted this too.

“From now on,” Dr Brodbeck said looking at Emilia, “you should spend two or tree hours with your mate every day, physical contact is recommended but not necessary, and I want you to bring him along for these sessions with me — they concern him too.”

Emilia nodded numbly, fidgeting, wondering how she was going to survive spending time with the Hornet.

 

 

The ride home was spent in painful silence, and Emilia fled into her room as soon as the car was parked and the front door unlocked. That night, she heard her parents yelling, their voices loud and mean as they shouted at each other downstairs in their bedroom. She heard her mother’s sobs, the shrill, broken sound people who aren’t used to crying make.

Emilia hated them both in that moment.

Hated her father for his anger and her mother for her tears. Hated them for not knowing how to deal with the situation, for not being perfect and having all the answers.

It wasn’t fair of her, but nothing was fair anymore, and so Emilia curled up into a ball on her small twin bed, trying to drown out her parent’s misery and the heart wrenching loneliness resonating through the bond, — clawing away at her heart as if it was her own.

She tried not to think of her ruined future — tried and failed, — and she wept a little, muffling her cries in her pillow.

The ache in her shoulders had turned into a blinding headache, and her skin felt too tight.

Sleep eluded her.

 

———

 

Sleep eluded him.

Casper rolled off Paul’s couch at five in the morning, unable to stand the thought of lying there for a single second more. His legs were stiff from having been crammed onto the too-small couch and his back was sore. Worse, however, was the blinding headache that had snuck up on him sometime the evening before.

Paul lived alone in a small ratty apartment in the bad part of town — and had been doing so ever since his parents died and he decided he couldn’t stand living with his crazy aunt when he was sixteen. The walls were mostly bare save for a few wrinkled playboy posters, and there were no curtains or even any real furniture save for the stained couch, the TV, and the bed tucked away in the apartment’s only other room. Clothes, shoes, take-out cartons and empty soda bottles littered the floor in a great sordid mess.

The Hornet had been here so many times it almost felt like home. Almost.

He let himself out quietly, not wanting to wake up Paul who could be heard snoring through the thin walls, and climbed three floors down and out onto the street. It was still dark out, but the sky was lightening to the east, the first hints of false dawn spreading across the sky. Casper huddled in his school blazer, whishing he had had time to go home and collect his coat — it was cold enough for him to see his see his breath and there was a definite tang of frost in the air.

He walked down the street, both too keyed-up and exhausted to be mindful of route or destination. There were people out on the streets even at this hour, people leaving for work or sitting on curbs and benches drinking beer like the addicts they probably were. Twice the he chose to skirt groups of loud teenagers likely to mug him for sport, (or because they needed the money,) but the Hornet was a big guy and his face was known in the neighbourhood, and so people left him alone.

Casper had been walking for almost an hour when he looked up, realising his feet had taken him across town and into Rovel Academy’s empty parking lot. By then, the real dawn was fast approaching and the sky was showing hints of orange and pink.

She sat on one of the picnic tables at the far end of the lot, her small dark form silhouetted by the pale morning light. Her shoulders were hunched and her head was down, a hood covering up the frizzy blond curls that characterized her.

The hood made no difference of course; Casper would know her anywhere.

His feet took him forward, took him to her, and he sat down on the table next to her, leaving half a foot of painful distance between them.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Emilia murmured. She looked drawn, exhausted, her eyes hooded and her skin too pale.

“I couldn’t either.” Casper murmured back, wondering if he looked as messed up as she did, and then figured he probably looked worse.

“The doctor says I have to spend time with you or I’ll get sick. Two hours a day at least…” She yawned, swaying a little before blinking hard in an effort to stay awake.

“Okay.” Casper agreed, suddenly feeling his own lack of sleep as acutely as she was. His headache, he noted, was blessedly gone.

“You can lean on me if you want,” Casper said, and it was his turn to yawn. “There’s still some time left to get some sleep.”

Emilia stiffened slightly, and he tried to decipher the tangles of emotion coming to him through the bond, — he found he wasn’t very good at it.

“You’re afraid of me.” The Hornet observed, too tired to sound properly bitter. “You don’t need to be.”

Emilia sat perfectly still for a long minute, her eyes hidden in the shadow of her hood, then she sighed, shoulders slumping, and leaned into him. She yawned.

“No.” She murmured. “No, I think I do.”

It smarted, but Casper supposed she had a point.

She fell asleep almost immediately; her breathing calm and her face warm against his shoulder. He was tempted to put an arm around her, to pull her tight and keep her warm, but he restrained himself — she would not have liked him better for the gesture. But he found that having her against him was nice anyway, and soon his own eyes grew too heavy and he let them slide shut, dozing off with her.

 

 

A loud screech woke them.

A girl with mousy hair and painted nails stood staring at them in disbelief. By now the sun had risen well into the sky, and Casper guessed by the number of cars and bikes parked that there were some fifteen minutes until the first bell rang.

“Emilia?” the girl asked, her eyes wide. Emilia leaned away from him, blinking awake. He missed the warmth of her almost as soon as it was gone.

“Um, hi Elyse.” Emilia greeted sounding apprehensive. The girl’s eyes flickered between Emilia and him and she had a look of scandal on her face. Casper thought it quite rude.

“Right,” Emilia said, hopping down from the table and turning to face him, “if you have any more questions about the vector projection formula you can ask me this afternoon after class okay?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Um… yeah, sure…” Casper managed, caught wrong-footed. He’d never been a very good liar — it was one of his more redeeming traits— but to be fair, there were a number of reasons why this one really shouldn’t work. Emilia grimaced a little and rolled her eyes at him, then turned and grabbed the girl — Elyse — by the arm and dragged her away into the main building.

Casper watched them go, feeling better than he had since that awful morning tree days ago. His life was still pretty messed up, and he supposed it wouldn’t last, but right then life seemed almost bearable.

 

 

 


	5. Ploughing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I have gone to one of those mythical places where good company exists but Wifi doesn’t — I am uploading this chapter using my cousin’s mobile net and It’s been a real hell getting it to work.  
> But it’s up!! Yay!  
> Next chapter won’t be up until Friday at the very earliest though, so bear with me.  
> Thank you all for reading!

 

 

“What was that?” Elyse hissed at Emilia, glancing back over her shoulder to stare at Casper as Emilia towed her away.

“What was what?” Emilia asked, playing dumb, her mind scrambling for a good explanation. Something that didn’t involve bonding, or her turning into…

Emilia stopped the thought — grabbed it by the tail and stuffed it into a mental chest full of thoughts she didn’t like thinking. Four days ago that same chest had been relatively empty, now it was close to overflowing.

Emilia wondered if one person’s head could be too full. She decided it probably could.

She tugged at her scarf.

“ _That!”_ Elyse practically screeched. She was good at screeching. “You! Him! The Hornet! _What were you doing with the Hornet?!”_

“Uhm… We were talking about math. He uh... he needed help with vector projection.” Emilia said, trying to sound properly sincere. She was not entirely sure why this had been the best lie she could come up with, but then she _had_ been under pressure. Now she figured she had to stick with it.

Elyse didn’t look like she believed her. Emilia didn’t really blame her.

“You were _leaning_ on him. Like, _are you dating?_ How do you even know _the Hornet?”_

“Uhh…” Emilia said brilliantly, trying to decide which question to answer. “I don’t. — Know him that is” Emilia said truthfully. “I was just really early today, and so was he for some reason, and we talked about… uh math…” Emilia trailed off feeling foolish.

“ _Math?”_ Elyse repeated incredulously. “Emmy you were _leaning on him._ That’s not math!”

Emilia flushed a deep crimson.

“I haven’t slept very well these last three days,” Emilia tried to explain, “I guess he got tired of my yawning and uh… Well he offered a shoulder… So…” Elyse was looking at her like she’d grown another head — or maybe spouted antennas and told her she was flying to mars in a bathtub. Emilia trailed off.

“You know,” Elyse said at last, looking at her hard, “you really do look like shit.” Then she rolled her eyes.

“ _Math!”_ She exclaimed, and there was a trace of contempt in her voice. _“_ Only _you_ could have a conversation with the hottest guy in school and talk about _math!”_ Emilia stiffened, both offended and embarrassed, her mind skipping back to the conversation she’d had with Matt. They had talked about math, hadn’t they?

Emilia had a moment of acute, agonizing worry in which she contemplated the fact that she might be a very boring person.

“I thought you and Matt said the Hornet was dangerous.” Emilia complained, trying to distract herself, while at the same time utterly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken.

“Well yeah,” Elyse said scornfully, “The guy is obviously deranged or something. I mean, last Wednesday, you know that day he almost punched Matt?” Emilia wasn’t really sure if that was what had happened but she nodded along anyway. “So like, Jennifer totally heard that the Hornet beat up Brian so bad he had to go home.”

Elyse shook her head, eyes glistening with quiet pleasure as she leaned in, lowering her voice. “But you know, I heard there’s a girl in the second year — Amanda or Amy or something — who says she’ll pay fifty bucks for a photo of him naked.”

Elyse grinned.

Emilia flushed and fought very hard _not_ to think about Casper naked and in bed. It was one of those memories that belonged in the chest, and Emilia wasn’t sure she would ever want to re-examine it.

But there was more, something else Elyse had said, and Emilia was consumed by some strange, raw emotion, — a combination of shame and guilt and disbelief that had no name. It left her a little breathless.

“Did he really beat up Brian?” Emilia asked with quiet dread. But Elyse was no longer paying attention, her eyes flitting around the emptying corridor.

“Did you hear the bell ring?” She asked frowning. “I think the bell has rung. Dammit, my fist class in on the second floor!”

They hurried off in different directions, scrambling to get to class before the doors closed.

 

 

Matt cornered her between first and second period.

“You didn’t show,” Matt said a little accusatory — his eyes darkening as he realised Emilia didn’t know what he was talking about. “For the study session remember?” There was an edge to his voice that Emilia couldn’t place. Annoyance? Hurt? She couldn’t be sure.

Emilia hadn’t remembered. In fact she’d forgotten so completely that it took her a second to figure out what he was referring to. Then she felt remorse.

“I’m so sorry Matt. I… I was really sick, and I really wasn’t thinking strait. Was the assignment really important?”

Matt looked at her a little miserably.

“Yeah,” he said, “It’s due tomorrow, and I don’t understand any of it. I have a committee meeting after school today you know? I will never finish it in time.”

Matt was a little wet from when he’d crossed the schoolyard and into the main building. It had begun raining outside, — a soft grey drizzle that made the air cold and fresh and damp — and droplets of water now glistened in Matt’s hair like diamonds under the fluorescent light.

Emilia’s hair was extra frizzy.

“I can take a look at it if you like?” Emilia asked, feeling brave. “Since I missed our study session. I don’t mind.”

Matt beamed at her, blue eyes lighting up. Emilia felt her ears turn pink.

“Really?” He asked, his relief plain. “That would be so great.” He pulled out a folder and handed it to her. It was pretty thick.

“Thank you.” Matt said and hurried off. Emilia wondered if the bell had rung.

 

———

 

“Is that _Paul?”_

Brian’s incredulous voice startled Casper out of his reflective appraisal of the canteen’s trademark sloppy sandwiches. He’d been trying to figure out why no one had offered the school a better deal than what the current suppliers were offering. The sandwiches really were quite nasty.

“Of course it’s not Paul.” The Hornet said, looking around the canteen, trying to see what Brian was seeing. “It’s Monday.”

“No man, that’s Paul.” Brian rose from his seat, and made a waving gesture. The Hornet was startled to see Paul wave back and wade through the crowd towards them.

“Wow” Casper said. “That really _is_ Paul.”

Paul was a stocky guy who spent too much time at the gym but no time at all on the treadmill. With dark eyes, red hair and pierced ears he stood out wherever he went. Today he also wore a scowl so grim it almost made him look comical.

Almost.

Paul was not fun to be around when he scowled — not that it had ever stopped Brian or the Hornet from messing with him anyway.

“Paul.” Brian greeted with a grin. “Did you forget it’s Monday?”

Paul growled. He had bags under his eyes and his red hair was in a very unattractive state of disarray. Paul practically hurled something at the Hornet — something small and sliver and not at all meant to be hurled at people. The Hornet snatched it from the air a little clumsily and glared at Paul.

It was an old battered cell phone, — the kind no respectable teenager is ever caught carrying around.

“Pick up your dammed phone you idiot.” Paul growled, and slumped down onto a chair. He started picking apart Brian’s sloppy sandwich, eating selected bits that weren’t as soggy as the rest. Brian let him get away with it with no more than a little good-natured complaining. It was Monday after all.

The phone started vibrating. The screen read 21 missed calls. The Hornet groaned and stuffed it in his pocket — an act that earned him a hail of soggy pieces of bread.

“Just answer already.” Brian told him. “She’s worried yeah? Probably heard you got kicked out.” Paul grunted his agreement. Casper glared at the both of them.

“You told her didn’t you?” the Hornet accused, looking at Brian. Brian shrugged.

“Not as much as you told us — which is very little by the way. I guess I just figured it was her business too you know?”

“Maybe,” the Hornet allowed, but then hissed, “But it sure as hell isn’t any of yours.” Brian narrowed his eyes, an angry snarl curling on his lips.

Paul bolted to his feet and slammed his fist down into the table so hard Casper imagined he heard it crack.

“WHEN YOUR PHONE WAKES ME UP ON A FUCKING MONDAY IT’S MY FUCKING BUISNESS!” he roared.

The entire canteen fell silent.

Paul sat down pointedly, and began picking the sandwich apart again. “Pick up your dammed phone you idiot.” He growled, repeating himself.

Casper looked down at the table. The Phone had stopped ringing.

“Later.” He said with a sigh. “I promise okay? Just… not right now.” Brian rolled his eyes.

“Drama queen.” He murmured. Casper wasn’t sure if Brian meant him or Paul. He supposed it could have been both.

“Where are the other boys?” Paul asked suddenly, and puzzled look briefly replacing the scowl. Normally there would have been a small crowd consisting mostly of boys and a few girls joining them at their table. The Hornet shrugged.

“It’s Monday. The Hornet told Paul by way of explanation.

“Oh…” Paul said, looking around. “Really?”

“Slackers all of them.” Brian said with a grin, and earned himself a punch in the arm.

Out of the corner of his eye, Casper caught glimpse of wild blond curls a few tables down. He tried very hard not to look her way. The bond had already told him she was there, and the distance made him antsy. More than antsy, it made him—

But no, it didn’t really matter. Casper was drawing up lines, — redrawing them, — lines he would not cross, lines that _should not_ be crossed.

He had failed.

Failed himself, — both the kid Casper had once been, and the man he had been trying to become. Failed Emilia too.

There was a great deep hollowness somewhere inside him, waiting for him — waiting for him to fail again so it could open its maw and swallow him whole. It terrified him.

It made him very, very angry.

The fact that the Collins kid was leaning over Her shoulder did not help his temper any either.

“So what did Ronnie say? Have they decided yet?” Brian was asking Paul, keeping his voice down. Casper stiffened and fixed his eyes on his sandwich. He was unsurprised to see that it had further disintegrated during the coarse of their conversation — the tomatoes now lay limply on the table in a pool of white, spiceless dressing.

“He said we need more lookouts.” Paul murmured, his voice barely audible over the din. “More eyes you know? Ronnie’s being careful.” Brian exhaled, and the Hornet thought he felt their eyes on him. He didn’t look up.

“So, Are you coming this Friday?” Brian asked, kicking Casper over the shin. The Hornet kicked back.

Hard.

Brian grinned.

“What, for the lake?” The Hornet asked with a trace of derision. “No way man, not if you begged me. “ Brian snorted, exasperation plain on his face as he shook his head at Casper, his fingers playing with his nose-ring all the while.

“Your loss.” Paul grunted, “I heard that there’d be chicks this Friday.” Then he grimaced and reluctantly added: “For once.”

Casper tried very hard not to glace at Her.

He almost succeeded.

 

 

She sat where he had found her that morning, — on one of the picnic tables by the parking lot. Dull, grey afternoon light seemed to blunt the world around them, — the heavy clouds muting sounds and thickening the air with moisture. It made the sight of her less sharp somehow — less vibrant, less tangible.

He wondered if perhaps there were moments were reality ceased and something other took over. Something better and less baleful than life seemed to be. He wondered if maybe they could be friends in such moments, if they could forgive each other for the injustice the world had done them.

He wondered if maybe some of his own darkness would recede then, wondered if there would be room instead for other things — better things — things that made him happy.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

The Hornet resisted the urge to hurl it into a wall.

It had stopped raining some time ago and dark puddles reflated the heavy sky above like small pools of silver, hiding their depths deceptively.

Casper watched Emilia as he picked his way towards her, and he knew the moment she sensed him there.

She ignored him though — her eyes boring into the thick folder she was holding.

“You know,” The Hornet said as he drew near, trying to make his tone light “—if you were going to lie about tutoring me, you should have said I needed help with German. I _really_ suck at German.” Emilia grimaced and looked up, — her eyes snapping to meet his and lingering there maybe a heartbeat too long.

“I took French.” She told him and looked down. “It was stupid anyway.” Casper caught himself nodding.

“You do realize I’m a third-year don’t you? Why would you be tutoring me?” Casper asked a little apprehensively — the Hornet was not at all sure he wanted to know what she thought of his intellect.

Emilia simply shrugged, and Casper felt a sharp tug of pain resonate through the bond, razor edged and cutting. It left him a little faint.

“No reason.” Emilia murmured, her eyes tight and her mouth a hard, brittle line. Casper thought maybe he saw it quiver just a little.

“Come on,” Casper said hoarsely, “I’ll walk you home.”

Emilia stuffed the folder back into her bag, and they walked across the empty parking lot, keeping a careful, frosty distance between them, separating them.

By the time they had reached the train-station, Emilia’s fingers had found their way to his sleeve, one timid fingertip pressing gently against naked skin — right where his pulse beat its own steady rhythm.

Neither mentioned it, — there seemed nothing to say in that moment. Both felt relief.


	6. Courage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS! I’M BACK! Is it still Friday? Oh well, never mind.   
> I hit my minimum word count yesterday, (or is it two days ago now?), but it needed an extra 1000 words.   
> I really like this chapter, I got to use some of the bits of dialogue I wrote back when I was still figuring out the setting, — and they even fit without too many adjustments! Stuff like that makes me giddy. I may be a little overtired too. 
> 
> Anyway, coming back home and seeing all the new kudos and comments was really something. The word euphoria may be a bit strong, but it’s stuck in my head and I’m tired. At any rate, I was really, really happy and all of you guys are reeaally great.

 

 

 

Life went back to normal, — or more accurately, life regained some vague semblance of it’s former shape and pace and there were moments where the two — the _before_ and the _after_ — overlapped so completely that the change was almost forgotten in the face of routine and sheer tedious normalcy — the word _almost_ being key. But the moment would inevitably pass, and they would find themselves in the midst of shaping new foreign routines so different and alien form their former ones that it made them feel very lost and afraid and so very unsure.

 

That first day, Casper spent fifty crowded minutes in public transport with Emilia’s fingers on his sleeve, and then a good solid hour in tense uncomfortable silence in Emilia’s backyard under the disapproving gaze of a worried Father.

The Hornet bore the distrustful eyes in bitter accepting silence, and Emilia in indignant apology, and before he left, they agreed never to repeat the experience if it could at all be helped.

They parted with a quiet tenuous truce between them.

 

The second day was better and worse.

Better because Emilia’s fingers where quicker to find his sleeve.

Worse because Casper’s phone kept ringing and despite his promise to Paul and Brian, he couldn’t find the courage to answer.

Worse, because Casper found that Emilia’s smile, — though never aimed at him — did strange, wonderful things to him — the way his blood heated and his heart lightened — things caused by hormones and instincts he was not a all comfortable with.

Worse, because of the way his temper frayed and darkened whenever too many hours passed without her — the way he snapped and scowled at his friends when they ribbed him for his mood, and the way small things set him off and made him want to throw things and hit people. And much, much worse, because Casper realised he recognised the pattern, and he was hit with the terrible, soul crushing thought that he was coming to resemble his father.

And lastly, it was worse because Casper had to spend another cramped night on Paul’s couch, pretending he was there by choice and still had a home that was his and mother who wanted him there.

 

They spent the second and third afternoon dazzled in bright brittle spring sunshine, sitting in a park halfway across town and only ten minutes on foot from Emilia’s house. They spent the time in silence rendered comfortable by the bond and the flux of shared emotions, while Emilia read or did homework and Casper watched the sky and the people walking dogs and — whenever he couldn’t help it— her.

 

The fourth day, it rained.

 

———

 

“Emilia, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but the scholarship track isn’t open to Omegas.”  
Emilia stared blankly at the student counsellor who fidgeted uncomfortably, wringing her hands.

Ingrid Rosenfeld was relatively young and had only been working at Rovel Academy as a counsellor for a couple of months. Emilia liked Ingrid because she had been the one to suggest the advanced classes and had dug up endless lists of universities offering specialized courses and programmes. It was obvious that Ingrid took great pleasure in helping the students who sought her guidance.

“If fact,” Ingrid swallowed visibly and looked at her hands as she rifled through a stack of papers. Her movements seemed stiff and nervous. “None of the Universities we have been considering admit anyone who is omega positive.” Ingrid’s eyes flickered up to meet Emilia’s for a second and then snapped down. She blinked repeatedly.

“I… I’ve been looking into your options and… well, there _are_ a few universities with omega programmes, but they are somewhat limited in scope and well… they aren’t exactly in the field you wanted… I’m sorry Emilia I know how hard you’ve been working for this.”

Somewhere in her heart, Emilia had kept some small hope alive — walled it off with brick and mortar and stowed it in the deepest recess of her heart. Her world did not suddenly crack or shake as it had that first time in the doctor’s office. She did not break. Instead, her carefully built walls slowly crumbled, brick by brick, pebble by pebble. The process was glacial — relentless and powerful like a force of nature.

The pain was not sharp, it did not cut or crush, it was intangible and dark and it felt like pressure — the way the bottom of an ocean might feel, smothering, deafening, suffocating.

Emilia stared at Ingrid’s hands, at the files and the piles of documents. The air felt thick and hot. The world blurred — she couldn’t seem to focus on anything, couldn’t make out the papers’ headers or the picture hanging on the wall behind the Ingrid’s head. Her palms were clammy.

Emilia lost a few seconds.

Worried hands came to rest on her shoulders, pushing her head down to her knees.

“Emilia breathe — come on, take a deep breath now. Stay with me.”

Ingrid’s voice was pitched a little too high; worry and panic making her squeak the words. “It’s all right, we’ll work something out. Come on now, deep breath.”

Emilia gasped, and her vertigo began to recede slowly. Her blouse was drenched in sweat.

“I’ll get you some water, okay? Just sit like that for a minute, keep your head down. I’ll be right back.” The Student counsellor fled the room.

Emilia closed her eyes, her world narrowing until in consisted only of the simple act of moving air in and out of her lungs.

In and out. In and out.

It hurt more than it should have.

Ingrid shuffled back into the small office. If Emilia had been able register anything at that moment she might have noticed that Ingrid’s eyes were red — glassy — that the act of retrieving a glass of water from the kitchen across the hall shouldn’t have taken quite so long.

“Here you are, Emilia.” Ingrid made her take the glass and drink.

“Right, so listen. We… We will keep looking okay? There might still be options we haven’t explored yet, overseas maybe, or experimental programmes… I’ll just… give you a minute okay? You can stay here as long as you want and then go home for the day if you don’t feel up to class, okay? Don’t worry about attendance, I’ll clear you… I...” The student counsellor faltered, hesitated, her eyes searching Emilia’s.

Emilia stared back, fingers clutching the cool glass a little too tightly.

Ingrid looked lost. Emilia found that she could resent that. Weren’t adults supposed to be the ones with all the answers?

The school counsellor turned away and hurried out the door.

Emilia sat very still for a long time, breathing, hurting. Tears threatened, but Emilia wasn’t ready to cry yet, not here at school with people all around and teachers ready to pry away her secrets in misguided attempts to help.

A small, cruel part of Emilia wondered how long Ingrid would keep quiet before the secret would slip out into the unforgiving waters fuelling the teachers’ rumour mill, — how long until the students knew too? How long until everyone knew she didn’t fit in?

Emilia gritted her teeth, got up and left the student counsellor’s office.

The world swayed a little around her, turned a little faint around the edges, but she managed — managed to keep breathing and stop thinking too hard about all the things she was not quite ready to deal with right this moment.

 

Casper found her halfway down the hall, almost running to catch up with her. His eyes were a little wild.

“What happened?” The Hornet demanded. “What’s wrong?” His eyes flickered up and down the empty corridor. Classes weren’t over yet.

“Leave me alone,” Emilia managed, turning away from him, fighting the tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks and the sobs that would make her shoulders tremble. “Go away.”

He reached for her wrist, carefully, gently. She snatched her hand away.

“Please,” Casper said quietly “tell me what’s wrong.” His dark eyes had grown tight, and he towered over her as he moved closer, loomed even. Emilia shook her head and started walking again, — away from him, away from the counsellor’s office and all those other things Emilia had begun associating with pain.

“Come on, Emilia.” Casper pleaded, the pain in his voice reflecting her own. “That isn’t fair, this hurts me too.”

That got her back up.

“So?” Emilia hissed, suddenly angry despite herself, and she spun back to face him. “You hurt me all the goddamn time too you know? You’re so angry all the time, so friggin _miserable_ and— and _lonely_ — and _it hurts me too_!”

They stared at each other, Casper’s features darkening, reflecting the blackness of his eyes and his curls and his reputation. For a moment, Emilia saw only the Hornet.

She stood her ground.

“So I just do nothing?” the Hornet snarled, angry, jaw clenching. “I just live with it? I almost blacked out in the middle of class you know.”

“Oh?” Emilia hissed back at him, unimpressed, — matching his anger, reflecting it back like a mirror. “I don’t hear you sharing, so why should I? What right do you have to my personal life? _Leave me alone.”_

The Horner’s eyes flashed, stormed, he opened his mouth to retort then snapped it shut again.

Casper hissed and looked down, rubbing his temples — hiding his eyes with his hand for a moment. Then he met her eyes.

“Give me your hand.” He said it firmly, clearly. Emilia was caught a little off-guard.

“What are you—” She tried to pull away from him.

“Just give it here—“ he snatched her hand, curling his long fingers tightly around her smaller ones.

They both exhaled sharply as some of the tension seemed to bleed out of them where their fingers touched, — like puss from a wound gone bad.

Casper moved a little closer — just half a step — and pulled her hand against his chest, to the spot over his heart. It was racing.

They both sighed.

“This sucks.” Casper murmured, and Emilia thought it the understatement of the century. She could feel the tears threatening once more. The pain was still there — shared now but no lighter or easier to bear. It was still hers. There was irony in that somewhere.

“Come on,” Casper murmured, looming over her protectively. “Let’s get out of here.”

Emilia let him pull her down the corridor and out of the building.

 

———

 

They could have gone a lot of places, Casper later reflected, the library or a café perhaps. But it didn’t seem right and instinct told him that it wasn’t what she needed.

Above them the sky had turned a heavy blackish purple, the colour of thunder and storms and cosy afternoons spent watching old videos. He hurried them along; anxious they might get caught in the rain.

Paul’s apartment wasn’t a place he would ever have brought a girl under other circumstances. It was messy at the best of times and at its worst it was downright disgusting. Casper had been cleaning a little the past couple of days, — an attempt to keep the couch clear and relatively clean and the floor uncluttered enough that he didn’t have to pick his way to the door or the bathroom. Still, it was only just this side of filthy.

He brought her anyway, and Emilia slumped down on the couch, pulling her legs against her chest and bowing her head. She didn’t look around the apartment and she didn’t let go of his hand.

“You live here?” She asked, her voice somewhere between a whisper and a mumble —barely audible, almost unintelligible. Casper understood her anyway.

He sat down beside her — resting their entwined hands between them on the couch. Casper’s eyes searched the ceiling. It was pretty filthy too.

“Kind of.” Casper said, and hesitated. He supposed one of them had to start. “I…” the words got stuck in his throat, — the words to explain some of the things he’d been dealing with, some of the things that caused him pain, caused _them_ pain. Casper found that they were very heavy words, — heavy to carry around inside and hard to share. He fought with them for a while; tried to dig up some small amount of courage — just enough to say some of it, just enough to start.

Emilia waited, silent and undemanding. She was a little lost inside her own head as well, still fighting to maintain bits of her wall, — bits of her hope. Casper could feel her fighting, even if he didn’t understand the reason for her pain. He borrowed some of her courage.

“I got kicked out…” Casper told her, whispering. “Mom she’s… She couldn’t handle the whole alpha thing. She’s… Well, she’s not entirely stable all of the time. It wasn’t always so bad, not when I was a kid anyway, but dad…” Casper trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut.

Some things are too painful to say — too hard to put into words. Sometimes there are no words at all; sometimes there is simply confusion and tangles of emotion too complex and too convoluted to define with words like ‘anger’ or ‘sadness’ or ‘loss’.

Emilia had lifted her head, and she looked at him, eyes glassy and a little wide as she clutched his hand — for his sake as much as for her own. Then she looked down, perhaps trying to find her own words.

Casper waited.

“The government has been shutting down omega education programmes for years.” Emilia whispered, her voice hitching a little. “I never thought of it before now but… I wanted — _want —_ to be a scientist and—.” Emilia broke off, much as Casper had, her lips trembling, tears finally spilling over.

“It’s just that… I saw this thing on TV —only a few weeks ago. There were people demonstrating for omega rights somewhere, —Sweden I think, — and I… I just turned it off you know? I didn’t even… I didn’t even stop to hear what they were saying or— or _anything._ I just turned it off, and now I—” Emilia broke off with a sob, the kind that racks the body and leaves you gasping, trembling.

Casper reached out to her, letting go of her hand and pulling her up against his side tightly, gently. She leaned into him burying her face in the scratchy fabric of his sweater.

It was the most natural thing in the world, him holding her as she cried. The way she fit there, they way they came together without thought or hesitation.

They both stiffened.

Casper snatched his arms back even as Emilia hissed, jerking away from him. She managed to look properly angry for a moment, but then another sob racked her and she leaned back into him, mumbling something to the effect of ‘oh fuck it.’

Casper let her, feeling tears of his own stinging back of his eyes, and he tucked an arm around her again, leaning into her just a little.

It was nice.

 

 

Emilia was flipping through one of the few books Casper had managed to collect from home when Brian barged in. They were still sitting on the couch, leaning on each other, back to back, Emilia grimacing at the book’s damaged spine, and Casper actually reading up on some of his history homework for once.

Brian got several steps into the apartment before spotting Emilia. He froze on the spot.

“Uh Hornet?” Brian croaked, “Why is there a girl sitting on Paul’s couch?”

The Hornet didn’t look up.

“Because I invited her here?” Casper suggested disinterestedly. The battle of Stalingrad was intense stuff.

Emilia fidgeted a little against him.

“Hi.” She said, leaning out over the edge of the couch a little to look at Brian. Brian blinked, obviously at a loss for words. Emilia was a lot neater than the girls he was used to. Sweeter too, Casper reckoned, enjoying his friend’s discomfort a little too much.

Emilia elbowed him.

Casper put the history book down with a theatrical sigh — history wasn’t _that_ interesting.

“Emilia, this is Brian my oldest friend — and he is an idiot most of the time so don’t mind him. Brian, this is Emilia.” Casper went back to reading.

Brian grinned, eyes sparkling.

“Emiiliaa” He said, singing her name a little tunelessly. Casper wrinkled his nose.

“The Hornet is bringing you with him to the lake tomorrow night right?” Brian asked with mischief. Casper groaned.

“The lake?” Emilia asked.

“No Brian, don’t you dare.” The Hornet warned, abandoning all pretence of reading.

“Yeah, it’s great” Brian said enthusiastically, “Everybody will be there. You’re a first year right? So it’s your first time — we always initiate the first years at the lake, it’ll be great. You _are_ coming right?”

Emilia glanced at Casper — feeling his reluctance through the bond. Then she grinned at Brian.

“Sure,” she said, “The Hornet is taking me.”

“I like you,” Brian told her, his grin widening further in approval.

The Hornet groaned.

 

 

 


	7. Cornered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This one was pretty tough to write for some reason, and it took me a little longer than usual. It's also the longest chapter so far! (Only marginally really, but still.) 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

 

 

 

The Lake was not so much a lake as it was a large pond surrounded by a small patch of old gnarly beech trees, and Rovel Academy students had gathered there every year for generations to celebrate the first warm spring nights, — and to drink beer and get drunk without their parents knowing.

Someone had brought a set of large loudspeakers and several meters of extension cord and had snuck into old Mrs Drover’s backyard, plugging them into the socket meant for the electrical lawnmower.

Music beat out into the crisp evening air as groups of teenagers slowly began tickling down well-trodden paths. Second- and third-years walked with the confident swagger of people who know what they are in for, and they called out to people they knew and people they thought they knew and began opening cans of beer and spiked cider.

The first-years came, louder and more boisterous than their seniors — masking inexperience with wild recklessness and airs of exaggerated self-assurance. The boys were raucous, some of them already mildly drunk and the girls walked in twos or threes clinging to each other, giggling in that way girls do when they are unsure but trying to hide it. They brought bags with liquor, pilfered from their parents’ stashes or bought with newly acquired fake ID’s — and the older kids cheered when the first bottles of cheep vodka were passed around by a first-year who shrugged off their fugitive appreciation with an air of generous nonchalance.

A fair number of people were already boisterously drunk by the time Emilia arrived, Casper hard on her heels, — still grumbling though a great deal more good-naturedly than before.

She stood at the edge of the gathering for a minute, taking it all in. Some hundred students had shown up — a third of the student body — and there were other kids as well, teenagers from other high schools and last year’s graduates with nothing better to do. A couple of second-years were trying to start a fire and cleverer, more sober minds, were trying to dissuade them. A growing group of girls had moved closer to the loudspeakers and had started dancing — a few brave boys joining in, two of them even displaying surprising skill and light-footedness that earned them shrieks of approval from the girls.

Mostly however, people simply chose to sit and talk in small groups of threes and fours as they drank their beers and their cups of alcoholic soda, mingling with people they ordinarily wouldn’t dare approach or had never thought to speak to.

“We can still go back.” Casper said in her ear, and Emilia started — not because of his closeness, she always knew where he was — but because his voice sent a spike of electricity down her spine that was not at all uncomfortable.

Emilia elbowed him with a familiarity that she wouldn’t have imagined two days prior, and he chuckled.

“I think… I think I see Elyse.” Emilia said, and Caper shrugged, his dark eyes catching on a group of people sitting down by the water.

“I’ll find you later,” Casper said a little absently, glancing down at her to see her nod and then striding away, his tall dark features quickly disappearing into the dusk. Emilia walked over to where she’d spotted a mop of long brown hair, and found Elyse standing with a couple of other first-years, some of whom Emilia knew from her classes.

“Emilia!” Elyse greeted smiling brilliantly and giggling a little. She was holding a beer in her hand but wrinkled her nose every time she took a sip. “You came!” Elyse giggled. “I didn’t think you’d come!”

Emilia smiled, something in Elyse’s tone making her feel uncertain and maybe even a little indignant. But Emilia had never been to a party like this one and she felt out of her element, insecure and exposed.

“Hi.” Emilia greeted timidly and hugged Elyse and a few of the people she knew. They smiled at her and started talking about the music and what classes they took and all the other banal things you talk about with near strangers.

Matt joined them after a while, sliding easily into the conversation, and he smiled at Emilia who blushed a little in return. It was easy to tell that he had had something to drink, the colour of his cheeks and the slight blurring of his speech giving him away.

“You’re so _tiny._ ” Matt told her at one point, “like a…” he paused, searching for a word. “Like a garden gnome! Or a hobbit!” He grinned at her. Emilia was pretty sure he’d just insulted her, but she smiled anyway, liking the attention.

“Emiiliaa.” Brian sang, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. His grin was a little too wide — too lopsided — and his eyes somewhat unfocused. He held two plastic cups, one in each hand, and he focused a little too hard on not spilling their contents in that way people who are verging on truly drunk always do.

Brian seemed to have decided to consequently sing her name and the attention made Emilia smile and blush abashedly though she wondered (worried) that Brian was actually mocking her. It was hard to tell.

“You’re not drinking anything?” Brian asked with feigned outrage. “Here, for you.” He handed Emilia one of the cups and winked. Then seemed to zoom in on Elyse, who was staring at Brian’s shaved head a nose ring, wide-eyed and incredulous.

“And for you!” He declared with flourish, some of the red liquid slushing over as he pushed the second cup into Elyse’s startled hands. “Pretty girls get drinks!” He told them. Elyse giggled

“Hi Brian!” Matt greeted enthusiastically, “Is Paul down by the lake? I haven’t seen him all night.”

Brian squinted at Matt and a couple of painful seconds passed before Brian pointed at him and slurred. “Collins yeah?”

Matt’s grin slipped a little but he kept smiling. “Yeah,” he said.

Brian’s eyes flickered between Emilia and Matt, and he scrunched up his nose in a way that made his nose-ring bob weirdly. Then he turned back to Emilia, casually slinging an arm around her small shoulders a pulling her aside. Brian was too drunk to notice her stiffen.

“We’ve got Hornet down by the lake.” Brian said, obviously trying for a whisper but pitching his voice too high. He was leaning on her too much. “You just come join us yeah?” Brian’s fingers caught in her frizzy curls, and he tugged them free a bit too roughly.

“Sure.” Emilia said, and smiled uncertainly. Brian nodded and it seemed to make him a little dizzy, but it was hard to tell.

“’Gotta stay close or you’ll lose him.” Brian told her with a hint of grim drunken honesty “‘It’s all that tall dark stranger shit he’s got going, chicks dig that.” Brian shrugged and there was something darker and angrier than exasperation in the gesture, “Bitches all of them. And he’s a loon yeah? But I almost saw him smile yesterday, and that was all you. Just don’t expect too much, — guys like him don’t stay forever.” Brian looked down at her, and for moment he did not look very drunk at all, a trace of cynical inevitability on his face that made Emilia’s heart quicken. Then he staggered, almost pulling Emilia down with him. “Shit, I need a drink.” Brian muttered. Emilia disagreed but didn’t say anything.

“You just come down and join us okay?” Brian said again, and grinned at her. Then he seemed to spot someone else he knew, and he squeezed her a little before letting go and wobbling off. Emilia saw Brian punch Matt in the arm as he passed him.

Matt and Elyse were staring at her.

_“You know Brian?”_ Elyse shrieked, moving over to where Emilia stood. Emilia couldn’t help thinking they had already had this conversation. It was a little dull.

“Uhm, we’ve met before.” Emilia told them, and shrugged. Matt was looking at her oddly and she wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not.

Emilia took a sip of the stuff Brian had handed her and found that only part of it was soda. In fact, the part that was soda was decidedly small, and it was too sweet and weirdly bitter and it really didn’t taste all that good.

She could feel Casper down in the direction of the Lake, a gentle pulse at the back of her mind. He was having a good time, she judged, almost happy, definitely preoccupied. Emilia turned away and resigned herself to Elyse’s incredulity.

She took another sip.

 

———

 

Casper didn’t notice when the throbbing started, it was too gentle and a little dizzying, and it felt like being drunk except he wasn’t — he’d only had one beer.

“Your phone’s turned off.” Paul said sounding exasperated. Casper turned to see Paul approaching, his red hair the colour of tarnished copper in the dim light. Paul plumped himself down onto the ground next to Casper. “You haven’t fucking called Annabelle yet.” He accused. Casper Scowled.

“Mind your own goddamn business.” The Hornet told him.

“Oh I would Hornet, but see, it’s kinda hard to mind my own goddamn business when Annabelle’s riding my ass to get you on the line. See how that works?” Casper groaned.

“She called you?”

“Brian too.” Paul told him and leaned in, something hard and menacing creeping into his voice. “Turn on your goddamn phone Hornet, stop being an ass.” Casper looked away.

“Idiot” Paul muttered. Casper silently agreed.

“Brian said you have a new girl,” Paul said, tone lightening, “brought her to my place. I thought I said the apartment’s chick free.” Casper scoffed, but something much like a smile pulled at the edges of his mouth. Paul watched it with weary optimism.

“What are you, seven?” The Hornet mocked, rolling his eyes. “No girls allowed in Paul’s tree-house.” Paul grinned.

“Oh girls are allowed alright, just not when they aren’t there to see me.” Paul said wagging his eyebrows suggestively. It looked ridiculous. The Hornet rolled his eyes.

“Whatever.” Casper said and stood — swaying slightly —letting his eyes roam the crowd. The throbbing was getting worse, and so was the dizziness. Was it possible to get drunk by proxy?

Something about that seemed exceedingly unfair. He concluded it was probably past time he got up and found Emilia — it was nice having her close by, nice knowing he could find her in a matter of minutes. It was not so nice having to explain to her father why his daughter was too drunk to stand — Casper wondered if it was too late to prevent _that_ disaster. It probably was.

He only made it two-dozen steps before Ronnie grabbed him, slapping his back in greeting. Ronnie was in his early twenties and supposedly studied at the local Uni — though no one could remember him ever actually attending a class. He was tall, — just a few centimetres shorter than Casper — with brown eyes and a greasy smile. Casper had never liked Ronnie much —despite Brian and Paul’s evident admiration. Even after an almost three years long acquaintance Casper still thought him a thug.

“Hornet,” Ronnie said, his voice low and gravely — Ronnie sounded every bit the chain-smoker he actually was.

“Listen man, I’ve been talking to Paul — we’re all really psyched that you’re back, I know shit got really ugly with your dad an all, — none of us blame you for bailing for a while.”

The Hornet managed a stiff smile, — it was forced and blatantly fake but Ronnie didn’t call him on it. “Yeah, thanks Ronnie.” The Hornet said a little stiffly. Ronnie smiled his oily smile.

“So here’s the thing Hornet, we need an extra lookout for this heist we’ve been planning for months, — someone we know won’t rat on us, someone who already knows the ropes yeah? There’s good money in it too, really good.” Ronnie flashed his teeth at the Hornet in a suggestive smile and Casper almost grimaced.

“Ronnie, I don’t think—“

“Hey no, listen Hornet, it’ll be safe yeah?” Ronnie interrupted, clasping Casper’s shoulder. “You’d be all the way down the street, no way to implicate you, ya know?” Ronnie shook his head fervently, something resembling empathetic indignation in his voice, “I’d _never_ ask you to risk jail time — not with all the stupid Alpha detainment laws — but you having our backs would be great. Just like old times yeah?”

The Hornet froze. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

“Think about it Hornet, there’d be a lot of money in it for you.” Ronnie said and clapped the Hornet roughly on the back before swaggering off.

 

*

 

Paul had moved down to the very edge of the pond where his beers lay cooling in the shallows. The Hornet did not wait for Paul to notice his approach.

You told Ronnie didn’t you? The Hornet accused, practically frothing. Paul turned and blinked.

“Told him what?

“About me! You told him didn’t you? That I fucking developed. You piece of shit how could you?”  
Paul’s eyes darkened.

“Yeah I told him. What—“ Paul barely blocked the Hornet’s fist with his forearm. “Oh fuck you Hornet. FUCK YOU.” Paul snarled, finding his balance and moving in close, unafraid of the Hornet’s temper. “I owe Ronnie everything — I don’t lie to him when he askes why you’re sleeping on my couch.”

The Hornet scoffed disdainfully and the sound seemed to make something snap loose inside Paul.

“Half a year Hornet!” Paul shouted, eyes dark and wild and spit flying. “Half a fucking year you didn’t come by! Only talking to us at school like we haven’t been your mates since we were six. You don’t know shit about what’s been going on — you never fucking asked did you? You think you’re the only one with problems huh? Well, you weren’t the one helping me pay rent when my raving Aunt decided to stop sending money where you? You weren’t the one who helped me get a job. You were too busy pretending to be better than us — except you aren’t you? You’re just another fucking Alpha with no friggin self-restraint!”

Casper stumbled back as if struck, Paul following, leaning in and lowering his voice into a taunt.

“You need to face it hornet, you’re Alpha, and pretending you aren’t won’t change it. Not telling Annabelle won’t change it, and lying to the people who are keeping your ass of the street _will not change it either_.”

Paul backed up and eyed Casper with bitter loathing. They were both breathing hard, jaws clenching. Casper felt dizzy, nauseous — and this time he wasn’t sure if it was just him or the bond. Probably a bit of both, he decided.

“We didn’t have to help you, you know.” Paul told him, his voice cold but level — the brunt of the anger already ebbing away. “Me and Brain, we didn’t have to pick up your ass like nothing ever happened. But we did, because that’s what we do — we look out for each other when no one else will. Maybe it’s time you start reciprocating.”

Paul stalked off angrily, Casper watching him go, a strange mix of rage and betrayal and shame roiling inside him.

 

*

 

It was late when Casper finally found Emilia.

She was sitting with a couple of others on the ground around one of the many electrical lanterns someone had long ago set up in order to make the area less hazardous at night. It provided only the faintest of light — an unfortunate combination of inept maintenance and energy-efficient blubs rendering the lanterns incapable of actually illuminating anything you might trip over. Still, there was just enough light to pick out the features of the people sitting in the small circles, some of them playing drinking games, others flirting or just talking — often about things they wouldn’t otherwise have shared with strangers.

Casper arrived just in time to prevent Emilia from toppling over as she attempted to stand. He caught her easily, tugging her against his chest and gently pulling her away from the ring of light and prying eyes.

Emilia leaned into him, her slight shoulders shivering slightly in the cold nigh air.

“What happened?” She murmured against his chest. “You’re hurting again.”

Casper hugged her to him, revelling in the relief her presence gave him, like painkillers — just being around her seemed to take the edge off the worst of the pain. It was disturbing really, and it was probably unfair to rely on Emilia for alleviation, but Casper didn’t have it in him to care about the morality of it all just then.

“Sorry.” Casper murmured back, apologizing for a lot of things.

“Idiot.” Emilia told him but there wasn’t much bite to it.

“Ugh,” Emilia said suddenly, “I don’t feel so good.” Casper groaned and managed to disentangle himself and get her hair out of her face before she doubled over, puking thin yellow sludge into the nearest bush. The trees at the edge of the lights smelled decidedly like piss and Casper was pretty sure he could hear someone else puking nearby. He was promptly reminded why he’d stopped coming here. There _had_ been some girls tonight though (for once), Casper reflected, the night probably wouldn’t have seemed so bad two weeks ago.

“Your father is going to kill me.” Casper whined at Emilia once she was done emptying her stomach.

She looked up at him a little blearily, blinking; looking very bit was wasted as she was. Then she giggled, eyes still on his — and Casper thought it the sweetest sound in world.

“He totally is, isn’t he?” Emilia said and giggled again.

Casper scooped her up, her tiny frame light in his arms, — a genuine grin spreading across his face.

“You know, I’m pretty sure this makes you an idiot too.” Casper told her, walking carefully through the trees and out onto the streets, — taking her home.

 

 

 

 


	8. Loose Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I'm guessing there's maybe two or three chapters left in this fic. I'm not making any promises as to when they will be up though, seeing as they are still just vague outlines in a word document right now, and because I have found I'm really bad at keeping my own deadlines.   
> Still, I hope you all enjoy it.

 

 

 

 

Emilia’s father did not kill anyone. He _did_ pull Casper aside just as he was about to head home.

“Are you out of your mind?” Mr Watson asked, barely controlled rage tightening his voice, “Bringing her home this late after what happened last week? And _dunk_?”

Mr. Watson loomed in the doorway, a back silhouette against the blinding light in the hallway behind him. His features were hidden in deep shadow, and the night was dark, and turning colder by the minute. Casper stared at the shape that was Emilia’s father, exhausted and hurt and weirdly hung-over.

“She wanted to go, sir,” Casper told him tiredly — tired of feeling responsible for everything, tired of Emilia’s father blaming him for things he had no control over. Tired of blaming himself. “Every other teen our age was there, — Emilia spent the evening with her classmates. It was normal.” The Hornet shrugged, the gesture sluggish and uncaring.

“Emilia isn’t _normal, s_ he’s omega! Damn you, she—“

“Marius.” Emilia’s mother stepped up into the doorway besides Mr Watson, the light from the hallway illuminating tired, kind eyes and a tight mouth for a second before she too was shrouded in shadow, — two black silhouettes sharp against blinding white. “Leave the boy alone, he looks exhausted.”

“What do you mean ‘leave him alone’?” Mr Watson hissed, one shadowy head turning to face the other in outrage, “He is a bad influence and if I can’t remove him then I’ll be dammed if I won’t tell him when he is out of line!”

“Oh drop it Marius you’re disturbing the neighbours. Emilia was pretty stubborn about tonight and you know it.” The smaller silhouette shook its head, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. “It will be two or three years before they can be separated — shouting at everyone won’t make the time go by faster.”

A long sullen silence succeeded her words, Marius Watson’s shoulders raised with the stiff indigence of argument before finally sagging. Mr Watson then turned away and disappeared into the house. Louise Watson sighed, looking back over her shoulder at her retreating husband.

“You should go home now Casper,” She told him, “you’ve caused us enough trouble for today.”

Her words did not hurt — they barely even registered.

_‘Separation.’_ The word resonated in his skull, distorting oddly as he picked it apart with his mind. ‘ _Separation.’_

He hadn’t considered it, — hadn’t so much as thought of the future.

Paul had been right, Casper had been ignoring things, not exactly hoping his problems would sort out themselves — he wasn’t _that_ disillusioned — but ignoring them non the less. It was easier that way, not having to deal with reality. Casper supposed he was a fool.

He walked away from the Emilia’s house, mindless, but his feet knew where to take him by now and he made it onto the right bus despite his daze.

“Last bus.” The bus driver informed him sullenly, the man’s lips curling in distain when Casper paid for his ticket in loose change. “There’ll be no cash in the busses as of next month,” the man grunted irritably, — as if the change to an electronic carding system wasn’t being advertised all over the city — before cranking up the volume of the radio.

The bus was empty save for a few nondescript stragglers, a ragged alcoholic, — if the sagging flesh of his cheeks and the scarlet of his nose were anything to go by, — and a grey-faced lady who looked to be in her forties but probably wasn’t.

Casper chose a seat at the front, away from the other passengers. The radio buzzed loudly, antiquated pop-songs beating away rhythmically in time with Casper’s headache.

‘ _Separation’._ Casper felt queasy, — and it wasn’t just Emilia’s hangover making him feel ill.

He should have thought of it before. Emilia had. Of coarse she had. She was a forward thinker, — a planner. The Hornet had never been a planner; it had taken him years before he so much as considered his future, years before he started wondering if maybe he didn’t have to be what people expected him to be.

The radio buzzed, and the hourly news report relieved the tasteless gush of trite pop-songs — Madonna’s voice fading out artlessly as the opening theme cut her off midsentence.

_—Alpha crime-rates have gone down almost 70% in the three years since the Alpha detainment laws were instituted — a remarkable success despite initial criticism from experts.—_

What would it mean, for him, and for Emilia? Tearing the bond over, ripping it free from his mind. The procedure had been illegal until sixty years ago, — but lots of things had once been illegal then, divorce, homosexuality, abortion. An increase of force-bonding in the fifties had eventually provided pretext for the legalization of separation — giving bonded couples the right to choose their partners and to reconsider.

The principle was good, the idea noble.

It now made Casper positively nauseous.

There was something deeply violating about ripping your soul free after it had been melded with another’s. Would he ever feel whole again? Would his mind ever be entirely his?

_—‘Mom lets me play on the streets now.’ Says 10 year-old raised in crime-ridden neighbourhood. 13 alphas has since 2014 been arrested there, and local crime-rates has been plummeting. —_

Maybe he _did_ want it. Maybe he did want a chance to find someone he loved, — but Casper hadn’t really thought about that either. He’d always figured he would end up with… well _someone_ he supposed or no one more likely. Like his dad, Casper thought bitterly.

But not _bonded._ Never bonded. That was reserved for rom-coms and soap operas, — not real people with real problems and certainly not Casper. Except he _was_ bonded and to someone who had _plans_ and _expectations_ and who wanted to make something of herself even though the world was telling her she couldn’t. And Casper _liked_ Emilia he realised, he _liked_ being bonded — liked that there was someone who knew what he was feeling and who could take some of the weight off for while.

— _A lawsuit was today launched by the twenty-two year-old alpha Michal Hafner after last week’s incident at Dellton Uni where his development was triggered by an unregistered Omega taking a stroll around campus. —_

It was selfish of coarse — this need for her, selfish and wrong in too many ways count. Holding her this evening had been wrong too — good but wrong, — and he still couldn’t find it in himself to care. Where was his choice in all this? Where was Emilia’s?

There wasn’t one.

That was what separation was for.

— _His plea for stricter registration laws and safe-zones has been met with tremendous support from the general public. The Minister of Education now proposes new laws concerning Omega presences in public spaces. —_

“TURN OFF THAT GODDAMMED RADIO!”

It was the drunk shouting, his words surprisingly clear. The haggard man was halfway out of his seat and clutching the backrest of the seat in front of him in anger. There was something like pain in his eyes.

“TURN OFF THAT SHIT RIGHT NOW!” the man roared again.

The man was alpha; Casper realized, — something he’d never been able to tell before, but now knew instinctively.

“My buss my rules!” The buss driver shouted back, sounding almost as angry as the other man. “You can get off if you don’t like it!

“Those laws ruined my brother’s life! We never had a god-dammed chance, — and now they’re doing the same to the omegas!” The alpha looked wildly about the buss, his eyes darting between the few passengers, all of whom where avoiding his eyes and pretending not to see him.

“Bigots, that’s what you are! All off you!” the man’s hands were shaking. “Thirty-five years in prison for car-theft — thirty-five! Jimmy was only eighteen — he was just a kid.” The man’s eyes were wet, bloodshot and shining with tears.

“You’re getting off my bus or I’m calling the cops!” the buss driver barked at the drunk as he jerked the buss to a sudden halt at the side of the road. “OFF!” The phrase _‘filthy alpha scum’_ fell quietly from the driver’s lips, — almost as an afterthought.

The alpha stumbled, seeming to suddenly fall back into his drunken stupor, his shoulders slumping as his eyes flitted around the buss. Casper felt the man’s eyes land on him and rest there for a moment, — the gaze heavy and scorching like a white-hot brand across his skin — the man’s mouth soundlessly shaping the words ‘ _only eighteen’._

*

His old, battered cell-phone was heavy in his hand as he stared at the screen. 42 missed calls it read, almost all of them from Annabelle. Ronnie’s phone-number sat innocently between the others in his contact list like a poisoned chalice, and the words ‘ _I’m in’_ feeling odd and too large in his mouth as he choked them out.

Paul’s couch felt hard and lumpy beneath him and the room was so cluttered it was hard to breathe. Still he stayed there, kept sitting, with his phone in his hands and regret in his stomach and the words _separation_ and _detainment laws_ rattling around in his head like loose change.

By Monday, everyone at school were bound to know about him, — that he had developed — if Ronnie knew then it was just a matter of time. He wondered if this last year’s worth of attendance and decent grades would make some kind of difference to the teachers. ‘ _Maybe’_ a small hopeful part of him whispered, but it was hard to reconcile even the smallest ounce optimism with a school-system that had already failed him once and with the bleakness of his current surroundings.

He realised he should have called Annabelle; it might have made a difference for him. It seemed too late now though, he had already fucked up again.

 

_———_

 

Emilia woke to a pounding headache and a terrible crink in her neck. She had fallen asleep on her bed fully clothed and on top of her covers and the discomfort hit her hard as she slowly clawed her way back to consciousness. She let out a groan and tried to kick off her socks but only managed to dislodge one before giving up.

Her mouth tasted like vomit and her limbs felt like lead. Drinking was awful, she decided as she rolled unto her stomach, burring her nose in her pillow and closing her eyes against the harsh beam of sunlight streaming in through a gap in the curtains.

Her battered alarm clock’s smallest hand was nearing ten, and Emilia could feel her discomfort growing stronger with every passing minute — her skin tightening and her headache worsening in way that had little to do with a hangover.

Agitated tension finally forced Emilia up and out of bed, grumbling and cursing the slumbering presence at the back of her mind. Casper felt soft and cottony like this, through the bond — his dreaming self less angry and not as prone to bouts of melancholy — but the effect was marred by a sense of hollow, bone-deep exhaustion that lay underneath.

In barely half an hour she had showered and dressed and she was watching a slice of breed turn slowly golden in the toaster when her mother cleared her throat pointedly behind her.

“You’re up.” Louise Watson said with judgement.

“Yes.” Emilia’s reply came out more hoarse and quiet than she had expected, — more a croak than a defiant affirmation — and the tight frown on her mother’s brow told her it had done little to aid her cause.

“You disappointed us yesterday, Emilia. We were counting on you to be smarter than that” Emilia hunched her shoulders, hiding behind her frizzy hair as she stared down into the toaster intently, not turning to look at her mother.

“Maybe I don’t want to be smarter than that though.” Emilia grumbled hoarsely, “Maybe I just wanted to be normal for a night.”

A long silence met her words and then finally a sigh. Emilia found the courage to peek at the older woman through the curtain of her hair. Louise Watson looked tired and drawn, as she stood slumped in the kitchen doorway still wearing her dressing gown over her nightdress.  

“We just want you to be safe, Emilia. And you are more exposed now, — more than other kids your age. You should have called us last night, we would have come and picked you up.”

“It was late.” Emilia protested, finally turning to face her mother properly. “And my friends were there, and Casper, and it’s not like—“

“Honey,” her mother cut in, “your dad and I are… coming to terms… with this mate business and we accept that you need to spend time with Casper for biological reasons, but that doesn’t mean we trust him with you.” Emilia’s mother looked at her sternly, and Emilia found some odd measure of comfort in the admonishing gaze — it imbued her with a false sense of security, the certainty that her mother still held all the answers and solutions she would ever need.

“Your father and I are trusting _you_ to be smart about all this, and to make good choices for yourself, all right? And so far Casper hasn’t shown us he is capable of any of those things.”

Emilia looked down, her eyes trailing the furrows in the tiled kitchen floor. There was an instinctual part of her that baulked at this harsh assessment of Casper — wanted to immediately jump to his defence, — but on an objective level she knew her mother might be right about this. The image of the Hornet hauling Brian out the backdoor of the canteen, and Brian’s own words echoing in her head, _‘_ _Just don’t expect too much, — guys like him don’t stay forever.’_

Those words hadn’t hurt her, — _couldn’t_ hurt her, — not with the bond so firmly in place and Casper a warm presence in her mind, but they set things in perceptive, offered a glimpse of the kind of person Casper was outside of the bond, — offered a glimpse of the Hornet, faithless and angry and capable of violence.

Emilia nodded. “Yeah.” She told her mother, agreeing. Louise Watson smiled tiredly at her daughter.

“Next time something like this happens, you call us okay? No matter how late, one of us will come and get you.”

Another nod, and Emilia was once again alone in the kitchen, the smell of burnt toast now wafting menacingly from the toaster and the itch in her bones worsening into something closer to pain than agitation.

 

*

 

It was not a hard decision, — despite the conversation with her mother still fresh in her mind — to leave a note on the counter and to head out of the house. The doctor had told her two hours a day with Casper would be enough, but it was already almost twelve hours since she last saw him and she could feel the symptoms kicking in for good. The fidgeting and the aching and her already sour mood darkening.

It was hard to tell how much of it was simply part of being thoroughly hung-over — Emilia certainly wouldn’t know — but mixed with the separation it made for a very bad cocktail.

So she got on a bus and fidgeted with her new phone, wondering whether she could scrounge up the courage to ask Matt for his number or if she would just have to ask Elyse again. She realised she would have to ask Casper for his too and she tired to imagine what they would text about — if they would text about anything at all — and she thought it might be nice, having a way to ask what was wrong when he went all sad in the back of her mind or a way to accuse him of sleep deprivation when she was dead tired right before a pop-quiz.

Emilia stumbled off the buss, trying to judge whether it had been the right stop. She hadn’t been paying much attention last time she was here, her hand in Casper’s as he pulled her along and misery sharp in her mind. Now that she was here alone, it occurred to her to feel small and vulnerable despite the sun being up high in the sky.

It was a bad neighbourhood, the kind with dirty sidewalks and too many closed and boarded up shops. Emilia found herself hunching her shoulders and walking faster down the block, her eyes flickering between the houses almost franticly as she searched for the right one.

It took her five more minutes of walking before she found the building and she had to pace back and forth between two identical doors a few times before deciding the left one had to be the right one because the lock was broken. She remembered the stairs though, three floors up, door on the right.

Emilia could feel Casper now, feel his proximity, and she knocked a little harder than she might otherwise have seeing as he was somehow still asleep and because her mood was black enough by now to be served with espresso.

Casper didn’t so much as stir. The bastard. Emilia knocked harder but to no avail.

She was contemplating whether or not kicking the door would yield better results when someone cleared their throat behind her, and she jumped, startled at the sound.

“’scuse me.” The man behind her said blearily, obviously dead on his feet. The red hair and piercings identified him as Paul and Emilia flushed scarlet, realising she had been about to kick this guy’s door.

“Um. Is—“ Emilia started, but Paul just pushed past her, fumbling with a set of keys as he swayed on his feet. It took him three tries to fit the right key into the lock.

“Um, I’m here to see Casper.” Emilia tired again as the door finally swung open. “Hey, can you—” Paul seemed to finally hear her because he turned back around, placing a steadying hand on the doorframe, and squinted at her.

“Hornet?” he slurred and blinked at her again. Paul wasn’t all that tall, but Emilia was tiny even on a good day and she felt herself shrink further under the drunken scrutiny. “You’re the new girl.” Paul said, stating it as if it was a decision he had just made, “Brian said— he said small and—“ Paul made a vague gesture towards his own hair, “—wild.”

“I guess?” Emilia squeaked, incredibly uncomfortable.

Paul craned his neck and peered over his shoulder into the maw of the ratty apartment at where Emilia could feel Casper sleeping.

“Hornet’s asleep. Looks like shit too.” Paul informed her rather unnecessarily.

“He looks like shit most of the time.” Emilia said with a shrug, and then blushed furiously, wondering if that had been out of line. Paul just crackled a laugh and then moved out of doorway, inviting her in wordlessly.

“He does, doesn’t he.” Paul agreed, rubbing a pale, freckled hand over his face and almost tripping over an empty soda bottle. “’s good meeting you. Hope you stick around for a while.” Paul told her once he was done swearing and then promptly disappeared into the apartment’s only bedroom, the door swinging shut behind him.

Casper lay sprawled out over the too-short couch, his feet sticking out over the armrest and one arm dipping out over the side and onto the floor. Emilia huffed irritably at him, silently blaming him for the crink in her neck.

He was frowning in his sleep, a deep furrow engraving itself onto his features. Unthinkingly, Emilia reached out and pressed a fingertip gently between his brows. The frown smoothed out into nothing under her touch, Casper remaining otherwise fast asleep. She huffed at him again, but it was hard to muster up the proper amount of irritation as she felt the tension drain from her as well, — leaving only exhaustion and a throbbing alcohol-induced headache.

“This is all your fault.” Emilia told him, not really knowing what she was blaming him for anymore. Perhaps everything. Maybe nothing.

She flopped down unto the couch beside him, making sure to elbow him in the stomach pointedly and smiling when Casper whined at her blearily and scooted backwards, leaving just enough room for her.

She stiffened when an arm came down around her, warm and comfortable, and Emilia tried to remember all the reasons why she _didn’t_ want that level of intimacy between them, but she was tired and her head was hurting and Casper’s arms was a nice place to be.

She fell asleep.

 

*

 

She hit the floor face first, a crumpled hoodie blessedly cushioning her fall. A pair of dark, sleepy eyes blinked down at her over the edge of the couch.

“Emilia?” Casper said groggily, “What are you doing on the floor?”

Emilia threw a filthy throw pillow at his head and then had to get up and throw it at him again when she realised he was smirking at her.

“How long have you been here?” Casper asked once she had settled down primly in the lotus position — on top of his shins — enjoying her petty revenge. Emilia glanced out the dirt-stained window dubiously, “A few hours?” she hazarded, trying to judge the afternoon light. She couldn’t quite find the energy to dig out her phone.

“Did you get into trouble? This morning I mean.” Casper asked around a yawn. He looked good like this, Emilia found herself thinking — tired and grubby and in need of a bath — but also relaxed and as close to content as she had ever seen him.

“Nah,” she told him earnestly, “not really anyway. I haven’t spoken to my dad yet though.”

“Your parents are pretty awesome.” He told her, something like envy snaking its way across the bond. Emilia looked away with a shrug, choosing not to comment. She knew her parents did pretty well by her — they just weren’t perfect. She had always counted on them to be perfect.

Silently she cast about for something else to talk about.

“Oh,” she said suddenly as her mind alighted on something she should have told him days ago. Guilt clogged her voice as she continued, “I forgot to tell you — I really should have told you, — um, the doctor says I’m not pregnant or anything.”

When Paul wandered out from his room minutes later, it was to the sight of Casper on the floor, head between his knees and hands in his air, breathing hard as Emilia giggled at him from her perch on the couch, her socked feet pressed soothingly between his shoulder blades.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
